Author's Note: This story is a recent product of my imagination. Many people envision Lyra as Kris's younger sister. That isn't incorrect, but there is more than one interpretation. Here's mine.
Something is implied here, but I won't say what. I hope you enjoy.
Please tell me what you think of this. I just sort of spewed out, which isn't my normal habit. So, if it doesn't work, then tell me now.
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The Horizon Line
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Lyra watches the horizon often. It's the sole reason why she wakes up so early, to watch the sun crest the hills.
One day, a girl with blue pigtails and a lab coat appears on her beloved horizon, followed by a bayleef and hiking down the steep hill from Ecruteak City. Lyra presses her face against the glass in her kitchen, but her mother won't let her outside to play with the girl.
She doesn't get to go outside much. Her older sister always took her outside when she was around, but since she left for the city, her mother is the only one left, and her mother is always busy. So Lyra is left with the dust mites under the beds as her only companions.
Not that she minds, of course. She has a vivid imagination. She pretends that she's on the wild western frontier and that the dust mites are tumbleweeds. Her hand gallops across the floor, a cowboy. Or a cowgirl, perhaps. Her mother scolds her afterwards, for getting dust all down the front of her overalls.
The blue-pigtail-girl walks to the front door of the ranch and knocks politely. Lyra is seven; she stands behind her mother's skirt and watches as the girl politely asks if there is room for her to stay the night. Her mother politely tells her that, yes, there is a room (for a small fee, since making a living from organic miltank milk is difficult these days). The girl walks inside with a smile and sets down her backpack.
Lyra is sent to her room, but she pries open the child lock with a bobby pin. After all, she is seven, and her mother does not give her enough credit for her intelligence. Then she darts down the hallway to find the pigtail-girl, her short brown hair flying behind her. She runs into the room where the girl is sitting on the bed with a furret and stands there, staring at her.
To her credit, blue-pigtail-girl doesn't glare at her or tell her to go away, like Lyra's older sister would have. It is her older sister's room, with the pink decorations fading and the walls still containing the posters from boy-bands that the girl had once liked. But the girl that is sitting here now is practical; she doesn't like pink or boy-bands, probably.
The girl, instead, smiles nicely. "I'm Kris," she says, and Lyra remembers that name. Kris, she decides, is a good name for a strong girl. Masculine in its own way, but feminine enough to make a difference in this world of men ruling.
"I'm Lyra," the little girl says, frowning. Then, without a warning, she reaches out a hand to pet the furret, but Kris is fast too, and her older, larger hand catches Lyra's and stops it before the normal-type pokemon can nip her fingers.
"Careful," Kris says, gently releasing the hand. "Furry doesn't always like people getting close to her."
Lyra pouts, then walks to the wall, rocking back and forth between her toes. It's great fun, she thinks, staring in animated suspension at an old poster with a group of older boys with guitars. Kris stands and walks up behind her. "Who's was this?" she asks, pointing at the band's name, which Lyra cannot read. "I think they're from before your time, so it's not your poster."
Lyra stares at the older girl for a moment, wondering why the girl is so kind to her. Then she remembers that there was a question. "I have a big sister," she says, sitting on the ground again. Her hair is messed up, but she isn't particularly distracted. She rocks back and forth, staring at the wall. "Her name is Whitney."
"Really?" Krid says, interested. "I battled a girl named Whitney, you know. And I won."
This girl had defeated Lyra's sister? The little girl stops rocking and stares hard at the trainer on her bed, proud of her senior.
Just then, Lyra hears a voice in the hallway. "Lyra? Lyra, where are you?" Her mother appears in the doorway then, looming ominously over the little girl. "Oh, I'm sorry, Kris. She sometimes just runs off, you know…" the woman shook her head. "Come on, dear. It's past your bedtime."
As Lyra lies in her bed with its rails and pink sheets, she watches the sun set and dreams of the girl with the skill to defeat her older sister.
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The girl with blue pigtails wakes up at dawn and quietly sneaks out, leaving some money on the kitchen table, but Lyra has already snuck outside to wait for her on the front porch.
"Lyra," Kris begins, looking majestic and beautiful against the open range, "you should go back to bed. It's early."
"I want to go with you," Lyra tells the trainer adamantly, and she sees sadness in Kris' eyes before the older girl guides her to back to the doorstep.
Then, she glares and throws a fist. Kris is caught off-guard, and the punch catches her on the arm. She sighs and puts a hand on the girl's head. "You can't, not yet. You're too young."
"I'm seven!"
Kris smiles and looks toward the rising sun. "Wait three years," she tells the girl. "Then you can go on a journey like me."
Lyra jumps down from the porch, arms swinging, and putters across the soil. Kris patiently follows the girl, who walks to the latrine in the very back of the barn. There, she points to a picture on the wall.
A girl with bubblegum pink hair bends over to hug a much younger Lyra; in the picture, the brunette girl is four and still smiles often.
Kris pats her on the back and hands her a small object. "Take care of this, okay? And when you become a pokemon trainer, you can return it to me."
Lyra doesn't ask where Kris will be when she eventually leaves for her journey, just blankly watches as the older trainer waves then takes off again, walking down the ever-sloping road to where it ends at Olivine harbor.
Meanwhile, Lyra presses a small white button and drops the present with a gasp when a small pokemon appears in a flash of red light. The little azurill darts out of the barn and into the arms of Lyra's mother.
"Lyra!" she scolds, pointing a finger at the little girl on the barn floor. "You shouldn't be playing with pokemon. You might get hurt!" She picks up the seven-year-old like a toddler and carries her inside the house.
And so she stays, with the new azurill; despite her best judgment, her mother does not release the baby pokemon, deeming it harmless.
Lyra goes back to staring at the horizon, at the open plains unrestricted by walls and windows and fences. "Some day," she tells the azurill. "Some day, we'll go too."
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