Matt walked calmly down one of the many twisting passages running through the Vast Poni Canyon, admiring the colourful strata the weathering of the rock had revealed. While the area was known to contain many rather powerful wild pokemon, he wasn't really worried – because at his side, his Weavile kept a watchful eye. It had been her idea to come here – she had wanted a proper challenge since they had first arrived in Alola, and the Hakamo-o tribes that inhabited some of the more isolated caverns were her quarry. They had been hiking for a couple of hours already, and were well past the commonly travelled paths, into areas only really used by Rangers and pilgrims.
Whenever they reached a clearing big enough for a reasonably safe battle, Weavile would let out a piercing cry of challenge. At first, they had been met unanswered; but soon enough the coughing roars of the Dragon-type pokemon were echoing through the twisting corridors of stone. The jangling of scale on scale had been growing louder and louder, and Weavile was visibly more excited – her crest shivering with anticipation, something Matt was familiar with for a variety of reasons.
As they entered the largest clearing they had found in at least an hour – with an enormous, spreading tree in the centre, and caves of various sizes pocking the walls – the sounds abruptly cut off. The absolute silence was almost eerie, but was instantly broken by a single, massive roar echoing out from what appeared to be the largest cave.
Weavile turned to Matt, letting out a quiet mewl that was obviously requesting permission. "Go, I know you'll do great," Matt told her, with an encouraging smile. "You'll be like nothing they've ever seen." Matt had met her as a Sneasel in the wilds around Mt Silver years ago, and his team had impressed her enough that she was willing – quite forcefully so – to come along for the ride. Since then, she had tested herself constantly, helping him train new additions to the team and finding the strongest opponents to battle. And this desire today led her to face the tribe of dragons.
As she stepped out of the shadow of the canyon, Weavile could feel herself trumming with tension, her claws trying to unsheathe themselves and her pulse racing. She stopped, stood confidently and let out a sharp series of screeches that – had Matt been able to understand them – meant something along the lines of "come out and face me, if you think you're hard enough!" The first attacker darted out of one of the closest – and smallest caves; a rather young looking Jangmo-o – who promptly ran back into the relative safety of the cave after as she cast out a volley of icy shards. Coughing grunts that couldn't be interpreted as anything other than laughter echoed out of many of the caves and across the clearing, and a trio of larger Hakamo-o stepped out to face her.
Each was a foot taller than her even as they shambled out on all four limbs, but Weavile simply dropped into an easy ready stance, content to wait for them to make the first move. The middle of the three darted at her, reaching with his long fore-arms, trying to trap her. She darted to the side at the last moment, ducking beneath his arms and slashing at his vulnerable joints as she passed.
From Matt's point of view, the fight quickly became a game of cat and mouse – Weaville's lightning fast attacks slipping gracefully between and around the defences of the slower, less experienced dragons. He had seen her fight enough to know that while they weren't exactly pushovers, neither were they even remotely a match for her. Rather than taking shots that would kill or cripple, she aimed to simply disable – neither of them wanted the entire tribe to collapse on them in outrage. As she wove between them, showing off her skill, she proved she was a worthy opponent – for these Hakamo-o weren't truly what she had come here to face.
And soon enough, Weavile stood untouched between the trio, all collapsed, exhausted and bleeding from a number of small but painful cuts – all in places that had they been given in earnest, would have done severe damage to the victims.
She stepped past them and closer to the centre of the clearing, and once more let out a piercing cry of challenge. The returning roar was deafening, and a deep ringing – reminiscent of huge bells – came from the far side of the clearing. Shadows shifted in the depths of the cave, to reveal the tribe's elder – a Kommo-o, towering over Weavile at nearly six feet tall even while hunched. As it straightened and once more let out a deep, reverberating growl, Weavile could feel a smile stretching across her face. Here, finally, was the challenge she had been waiting on – and this time, she wouldn't be the one waiting. She let out a screech of joy, and threw herself at her draconic opponent.
Matt looked on with pride as his companion tested the iron defence of the dragon. Sprays of ice were deflected off his thick plates, while Weavile was forced to dart and dive to avoid the lashing tail and the cleaver-like scales on the end. Each of his arms was nearly as long as Weavile's entire body, and he was remarkably fast for someone his size and bulk. She would never have any chance of getting at his (relatively) unarmoured underbelly, while to reach his weaving neck she would have to leap nearly twice her own height – leaving her airborne and easy prey while she did so. But there may just be another way.
"Remember to use the tree!" Matt shouted out to her, and Weavile let out a brief chirp of acknowledgement. Then, the next time her evasions took her by it, she lept up the trunk of the tree, sharp claws digging into the bark, and bounced back toward the dragon. Momentarily off balance, it was all Weavile needed to shift the momentum of the fight in her favour. Now forced to defend against a new vector of attack, the Kommo-o slowly began to struggle to keep up with her lightning movement. Eventually, Weavile found the window she needed, and as she flew past the dragon's neck, she reached out and caught herself on one of the thick defensive scales. Using it as an anchor, she swung up towards his head, caught herself, and pressed the tip of her claws against the tender surface underneath his jaw. The Kommo-o froze, and let out a gentle rumble. The fight was over, and he knew it.