Dull orange legs that are not quite claws rise and then strike in quick succession, both with pointed ends. The Venonat cannot dodge the scratch attack and endures the sharp pain with a quick cry, more surprised than anything. After a second's pause in which the two relatively low-level creatures stare at one another uncertainly, there is a blur of purple fur signaling the retaliatory tackle.
The child watches, fascination overshadowing his discomfort. His arms and legs are covered in scabs and scrapes from some cruel foliage. This is the third day he has spent in the forest. He is thirsty and hungry, sitting awkwardly on the forest floor because he cannot stand anymore without blacking out.
The Paras and Venonat continue to battle—the first, because fighting is in its nature, and the second, because its new self-assigned mission is to protect the child. And the child watches the battle-dance because it's the most vivid thing he has ever remembered. This is more important than the dull orphanage he has left behind, the miles of forest he has yet to trek.
So he watches with every fiber of his being.