Zhear

Zhear wasn't like the other Sneasels.

He had very different qualities from the rest of his group. Where some liked to hunt to benefit the clan, he hunted for the enjoyment of tormenting his prey with paranoia. Where others preferred to quietly rest in the branches of an oak, he found it better to freeze the tree completely and glide over the branches covered in ice.

He never made attempts to hurt another clan mate physically, but he was talented in annoying the rest of his hunters-in-training from his originality.

Where others quietly mind their own when their mother has been killed, he handles his emotion through distractions.

It had been years since his mother left to the Reflection, and the tribe had moved to a more uninhabited area of a the forest. Zhear had reached the age of his training days, where he would practice to become a hunter and pass through the ritual of becoming a Weavile.

But Zhear wasn't like the other Sneasels, and the rest of his group were already keeping their distance from him. Slowly, his ambition to hunt for the clan was draining away.

"Zhear!"

"Yes, Hunter Kay!"

"What are you doing with that branch?"

"Setting a trap Hunter Kay!"

"A what!?"

The current teacher for the hunter, Reacher Kay, furiously made his way toward Zhear. The rest of the apprentices directed their attention to Zhear and the raging Hunter storming in his direction. It wasn't the first time Zhear had been yelled at for his actions during practice, it was becoming a daily occurrence of mid-day drama that the other Sneasels had gotten used to.

Hunter Kay, a second year Hunter, ironically, was known for his patience with others. The Weavile already lost count how many times he has seen Zhear not follow the orders given.

"I'll ask again, what you doing with these old tree branches?"

"I'm setting a trap Hunter Ka-"

"Zhear!"

Zhear stood at attention, acting as though he was doing as he was told. The Sneasel looked around to see the others snickering or whispering humorous remarks to each other. He did his best to ignore them, like he always had.

"When, did I ever say for today's session, to build a trep?"

"It's trap, Hunter Kay." Zhear corrected, immediately regretting his words as they came out his mouth.

"What did you just say!?" Hunter Kay yelled, towering over Zhear with a look of fury.

"Nothing... Hunter Kay." Zhear murmured.

Kay then smashed the branches into multiple bits of bark. Zhear didn't react, he knew it was coming as soon as he tried to correct Kay. It was the breaking of one the first rules of training: "Your Hunter mentor knows all, never assume you do as well."

Zhear sighed, already hearing the muffled laughs of his Sneasel clan-mates looking away from yet another embarrassment. Hunter Kay ignored the rest of the group and pointed to the mess in front of Zhear.

"Clean this up, and return here after you have done three sets of tree hurdling. Since you love branches so much." Hunter Kay order, growling as he did. This time, Zhear flinched.

"Three!? But-"

"Now!"

There was a thousand words Zhear could have spat at Kay's face just then out of pure frustration, but he kept his cool. Sloppily, Zhear gathered the remains of his trap and walked off to the meadow for his punishment hurdles. All the while, Hunter Kay and the rest of the Sneasels starring, Kay making sure Zhear could feel the intimidation and humility as he left.

"Alright, the rest of you," Kay yelled, turning to everyone else,"Finish your stalking routines, and then you're done for today."

As Zhear left, lazily dropping his tree branch remains at his feet, he could distantly hear the joyous yips and yells from his training group that meant today's session was over, and he was left with three sets of tree-hurdles and a poor training report for when he got back.

The hurdles themselves weren't hard, it was the branches he had to leap to and from that consumed a lot of energy. The routine required for a Sneasel to leap from tree branch to tree branch around the edge of a meadow in one big circle. Since the branches themselves had been used for past training sessions over a period of several months, the bark on the limbs were smooth as river rocks and held no friction, so a Sneasel needed perfect balance to successfully make one jump.

Thirty jumps in one set, and if you missed one, you had to start from the very beginning since the starting tree was the tree with branches low enough for a Sneasel.

Time past, and Zhear was nearly done with his second set while he was cursing his ruined day and and yet another humiliation in training.

"You asked for a way to effectively contain the enemy in your grasp and I gave it to you." Zhear cried out, knowing that he was too far away from the tribe for anyone to hear.

"Not my fault you fail to even say 'trap' right you half-brained, short-clawed-, son of a-"

There was loud crack as Zhear's branch beneath instantly shattered off the tree from a rough landing he had made. His words were cut-short and replaced with a yelp as he fell to the ground with the tree limb showering upon him.

He laid there, motionless... too furious to even react upon the moment, he was on the ground and the betraying branch landing on his back. He could imagine what it would be like if the others had seen him, yet again being a failure. They would laugh, mock him, more than likely throw more wood on the pile. Hunter Kay would stand above him with his calm yet furious look. Telling him how he would never become a Hunter.

His thoughts suddenly got the better of him and Zhear pushed himself up in a fast motion, the tree remains thrown off his back by force. The Sneasel screamed in anger and began slashing his claws at the air. Zhear kicked the edge of a nearby stick and launched it into the air, he swiped at it and the wood was slashed apart, splinters cast out into the meadow.

He continued his rage and then started to insult nobody.

"I am worthy, you senseless bastard!"

Zhear slashed his small two claws at the trunk of the tree that caused his fall.

"I'll be the best Hunter there ever was!"

Ice began to form around his paws.

"And when I'm Chief, you'll be the one who's laughed at mocked all his life!"

The tree bark instantly became a thick shell of ice where his claws hit, and in return...

Zhear couldn't move, both of his claws were driven in too deep into the tree and the ice already froze over his arms. The Sneasel roared and began bashing his head against the solid ice while baring his teeth. He continued to beat himself against his own trap that he open a small wound on his forehead from previous punishments that ended similar to this.

Finally, tired from his horrible day, he stopped headbutting the bark and, slowly and quietly, rest his head on his arms, teeth still out, blood dripping off his nose from his forehead.

"…You'll see… All of you will see… I'm more than just a kinless Sneasel."

Zhear remained there for the duration of the dimming sunlight. The stars began to show above, and the only light left was the moon's shade of blue. Zhear, with the drying tears on his face glistening from the moonlight, made a sudden shiver. He realized it was getting to that time of night where the temperature had become too low for even his adaptation.

Reminded by the silence and the cold that it was too late for him to make up the time and finish his session, he agreed he had had enough time to himself.

The ice that once kept his limbs in place had long melted away. His anger from before kept up his energy for the ice to never go away. Now that his momentary, and daily, fury had past, he was free to leave from his self-contained solitude.

He left behind the evidence of his failure and headed away from the meadow and towards camp. As he made the slow-paced walk back, climbing over tree limbs and going around the bigger spruces, he observed his sore and broken claws.

Zhear wanted more than anything to break the extra claws he had. While most of his kind had two claws for each hand, he had three. It seemed natural to him, but also uncomfortable when he saw the normal version, belonging to the others that look down upon him and mock the difference he held. By now, after living with the Tribe for as long as he could remember, he secluded himself from the others, always reminding himself of how he would never have the privilege of knowing someone who ignored his individuality.

But at this moment, it wasn't his concern. This would be the second time he failed his Grant of Passing test, it was rare as it was for any Sneasel to fail it the first time around. He was lucky as it was for the Chief to give him another chance at gaining the right to evolve.

The scent of his Tribe reached him before he starting to hear them. The temperature had risen slightly, adjusting to the point of his liking. It was a trick some of the older Weaviles had discovered when they tested to abilites of the move Sheer Cold.

Unfortunately, those practices also resulted in the unsettling death of two Hunters. That was also the point in time when the Tribe learned that if one's body underwent extreme temperatures, they would shatter like glass.

Zhear wiped the tears from under his eyes away, and walked out of the forest foliage and into the field that the Tribe's settlement was located in.

Dark as it was, it was still possible to see that the tribe was active. The settlement itself consisted of large tents made of Mamoswine and Sawsbuck pelts. In fact, the majority of the Tribe's fixtures and structures were created with leftovers of hunts. The bones of Mamoswine were used for tent supports, Sawsbuck antlers used for bowls, and Snorunt husks for cloth.

Zhear was stepping onto the beaten path when he felt the eyes of other Sneasels drawn towards him. His chosen direction and time of arrival placed him in confrontation with the first year Hunters. Zhear groaned in frustration, the last thing he needed was to be talked down to by his old training group. The overwhelming amount of uncomfortableness was already making his return underwhelming.

"The 'Slip-Up' returns! A little late to be doing Hunter training, don't ya think? 'Slip-Up'?"

The voice came from the shadowy silhouette sitting on the top of a watch post on the edge of the settlement. The voice was followed by snickering from the base of the post, which told Zhear that two certain Weaviles were taking the night watch. The moonlight casted long shadows from both the Weaviles that dragged out beside Zhear.

"I see you two Hunters got the pointless job again." Zhear murmured in the most uncaring way he could.

"At least we are Hunters!" This time a different Weavile was talking, who also seemed to accept that he was in a meaningless position."Still taking your training classes?" He sneered.

"Yep, and you're still not tired of the same joke, Rat."

There was a growl. "It's Ferat!" He corrected.

"Oh, right, sorry. It's easy to mistake you for something equal in intelligence." Zhear replied calmly, still making his way back to the Tribe.

"Don't get too angry Ferat, remember your place, he isn't even worth your efforts."

The comment was clearly meant towards Zhear, but he ignored it. He was tired, and annoyed with anything that talked to him. All he wanted was to make it back to his home without any further socializing. But with the two Weaviles between him and sweet sanctuary, his night was only going to get worse.

As Zhear was close to passing by Rat and his companion, both of them sidestepped in front of the Sneasel, smiling as they did.

"Seeking entrance?" Rat questioned.

"Not this again…" Zhear growled. "I'm not playing your games of insult, Merik. I have better things to do."

"Oh really? You're just a Sneasel, what is so important?" Merik asked, not bothered by Zhear's unamusement.

Zhear looked up, both Weaviles staring down at him, and made eye-contact with a look of extreme hatred.

"Becoming a Weavile, what else?"

There was a moment of silence among the three, only the distant noises of the forest could be heard. Zhear, with his attention directed to the now bewildered Weaviles, shivered as a night breeze past by. After a few seconds of mute noise, Rat and Merik suddenly erupted in laughter. They grabbed their sides seemingly in pain as they fell backwards onto the post in hilarity.

Zhear rolled his eyes, and took advantage of the moment by slipping in between the two hysterical Weaviles. He was held back by Rat's claws.

"No way, you still have to gain entry, 'Slip-Up'."

Zhear growled, his claws started to glow in preparation to gain entry through a more physical confrontation. Rat and Mirak saw this, and Rat pushed Zhear to the ground. Zhear grunted and quickly pushed against the ground before his face took the full force of it. Mirak didn't give him anytime to recover before pulling back his leg and kicking Zhear in the chest with such force the Sneasel last his breath.

"Trying to become a Weavile now!? You little pest." Rat mocked.

Zhear gasped for breath, barely getting what he needed. In anger, he retaliated by swiping at Rat's legs with his glowing white claws.

The older Weavile yelled in pain, Zhear's attack had punctured the back of his foot which now leaked blood. Rat once again pulled back his leg to kick Zhear, the Sneasel expected this and unlatched his claws and rolled away from Rat and quickly jumped to his feet.

He regained air the moment after, and both Rat and Mirak growled at him. Their faces contorted with rage.

"You little…" Mirak started, before dashing to the smaller opponent with his paw raised.

Zhear was too slow compared to a Weavile's speed, and Mirak was determined to get back at Zhear's resistance. Unable to dodge, Zhear took the slash of Mirak's attack with full force across his face, knocking him backwards.

Zhear screamed in pain. A splash of crimson liquid flying from the brand new gash between his eyes. The Sneasel buried his face into his hands, hoping his cold claws would numb the overwhelming injury.

"You're too weak to be a Weavile you insignificant pest!" Mirak roared at him. "When will you learn you have no place here!"

Zhear hissed in pure frustration. His own blood began flowing through his claws, turning his bright paws into dark crimson daggers. In the dark, somewhere behind Mirak, he could hear Rat acting the same way with his leg.

Just as Zhear was about to make another lunge at his enemy, they all froze up at the sound of a much older Weavile's voice coming from the camp.

"Rat? Mirak? Do we have an intruder?"

Rat forgot about his injury, and Mirak dropped his attack stance as they turned to face the respectable Weavile approaching them.

"Master Meruyk!" They shouted in unison.

Meruyk walked calmly towards the three of them, unfazed by the blood that was clearly visible in the moonlight. His walk always gave Zhear the impression his was a brainless servant only acting on the Chief's orders. His melancholy gaze further proved his point.

"I gave you two one job, and that was to ensure nothing approached the camp from the forest. Why is it that I came to back to see you already bleeding from such a simple task?" He asked coldly. Zhear couldn't help but to chuckle at the sight of the defeated Rat and Mirak.

"There was a… disturbance." Rat muttered, clearly uncomfortable from standing on his clawed foot. Mirak casted a look of hatred at Zhear.

Zhear, with arms at his sides and blood covering half his face, was suddenly grabbed by the arm and pulled to Mirak's side.

"This Sneasel came back late, and we found him bleeding and confused."

Zhear's eyes went wide, Mirak was taking advantage of Meruyk's unawareness and putting the blame on him. The Sneasel open his mouth to protest, but Mirak continued.

"He attacked us blindly, and we did what we had to protect the Tribe. So-"

"You pushed Zhear to the ground, kicked him while he was down, recieved an appropriate slash to the leg, and finished it off by slashing the Sneasel's face." Meruyk interrupted nonchalantly. "Am I right?"

Mirak stuttered, every word coming out in a incomprehensible blabber. Zhear's expression went from shock to an evil smile.

Meruyk held his stare of emotionless, which terrified Mirak and Rat both.

"H-He clawed out my leg!" Rat accused.

"You were in the wrong for overpowering someone much smaller than you."

Zhear had to growl in disagreement for that remark.

"But the fact that a Sneasel is making you… cry? Now that is something worth being talked down to for."

Rat flinched. The Weavile backed away and turned back to his post, not turning to face anyone else.

Meruyk sighed and looked at Mirak. "Carry on now, Mirak. Your partner needs your assistance. I made it clear that we have yet to locate the wild Luxray in our territory. Keep your eyes open to the forest and not your own Tribe, would you?"

Mirak, unlike Rat, had his eyes squinted and his teeth bared. Without replying, he looked at Zhear and back to Meruyk with a hostile gaze. But he made no remark, and walked back to where he was originally before Zhear's appearance.

When the two guards were out of earshot, Meruyk directed his gaze to Zhear. Saying nothing.

Zhear stared back, knowing exactly what his mentor was thinking.

"I didn't follow Hunter Kay's directions, so I had to stay back and do extra practices."

The Weavile's eyebrow raised, Zhear groaned.

"I'm sorry for being late. You won't have to go out of your way to save my hide again."

Meruyk didn't replied, Zhear wasn't expecting him to. After a few more moment of silent staring, Zhear scoffed at him before shoving off to enter the camp.

"You should see the Shaman in the morning." Meruyk called out, before Zhear had made it to far.

Zhear stopped in his tracks, he wanted to say something, to exert his anger in words and hopefully on someone who would listen. Meruyk was his caretaker, his Guardian until he became a Weavile. Where everyone else had their own parent's guidance, he had no family, so Meruyk volunteer to be his surrogate parent until he reached of age. Zhear knew that he was the only Weavile in the Tribe that would care, but something held him back.

So the Sneasel, blood drenched and cold, nodded his head and left Meruyk with nothing more than a simple acknowledgement.

The Sneasel quietly made his way down the beaten road that ran in the middle of the village. There wasn't an order to which the tents and canvases were laid out, it was only at random. The colors, size, and space each housing took was dependant on the family.

Zhear had gained his own residence after his first failure with the first test. It was part the Tribes culture to have a Weavile to gain his own home after evolution… unfortunately for Zhear, he was the first to have ever failed. So he was also the first Sneasel to have his own tent.

As Zhear saw his tent in the dark of the night, he passed by all the others, already gaining his depressing feeling as he walked by the more fortunate Weavile families.

His tent, unlike the larger and more colorful homes, was small, worn, and brown. Propped by cracked bones, and barely standing more than a foot above Zhear's head. The home was as old as he was, never refurbished or even completed. There were several small drafts in the the worn cloth which never actually provided protection the late night weather.

But it was home, and the only thing Zhear had to any relevant belonging or possession.

The Sneasel pushed aside the front flap and sighed in exhaustion as he lazily dropped to the floor on top of his small pile of pelts. His tent swayed in the cold wind and Zhear quickly threw a ragged fur over him to protect himself from the freezing temperatures.

After a while, when he felt calm enough to think clearly, Zhear faced up toward the top of his canvas. The light of the moon reflected off of the hanging ice decorations he made when his home was built. They lightly tapped each other from the wavering cloth, making small noises that soothed Zhear's mind.

Eyelids getting heavy, Zhear reminding himself what it was he was determined to achieve.

Then Zhear fell into a deep sleep, tears falling off his face as he did.

The cold winds of the night passed, and when dawn broke, a sudden light of heat fell over the Tribe, signifying a new day. Weaviles, Sneasels, and travelers that took a night's sleep in the settlement, started to arise and within a short time the Tribe was live and active.

The morning patrols were already heading out, the guards had made their rounds, and the Sneasel group were awake and excited for the new day.

Then there came screaming. A commotion that centered around certain tents near the border of the camp. Hunters rushed to the yells and cries. When the Weaviles, Glaceons, and Sneasels gathered, they all observed as a group of Hunters inspected the empty and ruined tents..

Three Sneasels and an Eevee had disappeared that night, one of which was Zhear himself. Only a trail of blood that lead into the forest was all that was left on their presence.