AMELIA LINFORD was confused.
The two pokémon focused their concerned looks on their owner, devotion shining on each unique face, not daring to even consider anything but hope and optimism. The sneazle and lairon had been with Amelia Linford since their infancy, and a slight loss of memory wasn't going to end their relationships with the eighteen year old girl.
Amelia didn't quite understand what, exactly, she was confused about: all of the information was distant and extremely spotty, but accessible, all the same. It reminded Amelia of a time when she was first explained how to read the hands of the clock; the child understood that the hands told the time, of course, and that time was a measure of units that grown-ups took very seriously. But it took her weeks to read the Roman numerals successfully, and even longer to comprehend the deeper, philosophic side of the subject. Time was simply a measure of distance: it didn't move. "We move," Amelia Linford had once suggested. It was the last, and only, scene Amelia could remember before the accident and the subsequent case of amnesia: everything else was a haze.
In fact, this was exactly like reading a clock for the first time. What did these animals (if they were animals)... these pokémon, mean to her, before? What did they mean to the rest of the world? Were they pets, or were they more than just a hobby? Why were they caged ('humanely', the nurse had insisted) in tiny balls, if they were so damned important to her?
The teenager considered the sneasel the longest, comforted by it's sweet face and loyal mew. She remembered only the sneasel, who hadn't been in a pokéball and had, instead, remained faithfully by her side, while the girl had been confined to bed. This was the first time she remembered ever laying eyes on the lairon; to be honest, she didn't quite understand the concept of pokémon, anyways.
"Do they have names?" She asked the nurse, who was determined to keep a straight face. Likewise, the pokémon never faltered in radiating their happiness.
"Well, yes, Miss Linford. Of course, your sneasel you named Noir... don't you remember?" The silence was absolutely deafening, and Amelia tried to ignored the wide-eyed sneasel. Why were these... creatures, so concerned? Animals couldn't understand human speech: They'd never comprehend the consequences of amnesia.
"No. I'm afraid I don't."
"It'll come back to you, Miss Linford. Don't you worry."
That was, of course, the most worrying bit of it all. Miss Linford wasn't worried, when she felt that was exactly what she should be experiencing, after all. But her subconscious seemed to understand; with a gesture that was all instinct and all encompassing, she held out her hands, where a waiting sneasel jumped with a practiced grace into her arms. Amelia noticed the creature's claws had retracted, and her feathers were neatly tucked in a tail-like stance. 'This sneasel was more than simply a pet to me,' she concluded. The nurse returned the other pokémon, lairon, to his pokéball; Amelia Linford didn't remember how to do it herself. She wouldn't have remembered her own name, had it not been that her family and caretakers were repetitive with the information.
The sneasel nudged her with a wet nose. The gesture was heartfelt and tear jerking, and only just began to express the admiration the weasel-like character held for her owner. But, most of all, it expressed a simple feeling that meant the world and above to Amelia Linford. 'I understand what you are going through.'