Chapter One: In Which, a Kindred Spirit is Found
The heat of the early summer sun was beautifully warm against his lightly coloured beige fur, beating down in golden rays that illuminated the forest in its warm glow.
He flicked his ears forward as he listened to the bird's singing sweetly and the crickets chirruping in the tall grasses that huddled close to the trunks of the red-barked trees. He jumped back with a bark as a Taillow flitted by overhead, letting out a cry that made his fur rise slightly. It soon disappeared into the trees, however, and his fur settled.
Sniffing, he walked on; padding to a small burrow and slowly lowering his nose to it, trying to distinguish what creature the strange scent he had caught belonged to. A small growl made him skitter away, however, as the small, fuzzy head of a Zigzagoon popped out from the burrow, growling at the intruder who had so rudely poked its nose into his home. Fearful of this spiky-furred creature, he turned tail and ran, much to the racoon's satisfaction.
Exhausted and hungry, he stopped to rest near a gently trickling brook, watching a pair of fighting Corphish with obvious interest, even going as far as batting at them with a paw, only to hastily retreat it as the two crab-like creatures moved their large claws towards him.
Snorting with indignation, he jogged up the brook's length, pausing once more as he spotted a small, blue shell, closed up tight. Gingerly stepping into the cool water, he pawed at the shell until he knocked it up onto the shore, where he continued to play until he realised he could not open it and grew bored, leaving while the stranded Clamperl soon became the next luckless creature to fall under the gaze of a nearby Swellow.
Panting slightly now, he flopped underneath a tree, watching the flocks of Taillow up in the sky through a clear space in the canopy. He had not been in this new territory a day and already he was struggling. The little dog was seriously considering making the journey home.
He fell asleep as the sun set, belly grumbling loudly as it realised he was resting without it being full. Whimpering, he ignored it, scratching at his ear with a hind paw.
The night was warm, but that gave him no comfort as he attempted to snuggle into the mossy ground by the tree only to find that he had nuzzled straight into the sharp rear-end of a Wurmple. Yelping with pain, he soon devoured the caterpillar, making sure he did not eat the prickly, poisonous spines he had just been pricked by.
Though he was injured and worn out, it felt good to finally have some food in his growling belly, despite the meat being very little and not especially delicious. Still hungry, he padded through the night, ears drooping as fatigue started to win over once again.
He startled a herd of Stantler as he nosed his way into a clearing, fluffing up into a tiny ball as the deer scattered, trembling even after they had left. A Hoothoot, high above him on a jutting-out branch, let out a little cry, ruffling its feathers as it constantly switched from foot-to-foot, keeping the time.
Uncurling, he jumped up, placing his front paws on the tree trunk, and barked at the little owl, causing those bright, red eyes of its to be narrowed as it made a little huffing sound and flapped away. He continued to bark, running along the undergrowth as he followed it from one tree to the next, yapping and whimpering.
There was a rustling sound and a small, red-furred face was suddenly directly in front of his, another set of red eyes glowing, only these ones were gentler and a little more familiar to him.
Pressing her nose to his briefly, the vixen ran off, leaping over a rotten log and out of sight. Tilting his head slightly, he soon gave chase, his nose tingling where she had touched it.
It didn't take long for him to find her again, her scentsmell being one he found he could not easily forget. Something about it reminded him of the earth, when he had been up high in the mountains.
She had paused, sitting atop a tree stump as she waited for him to catch up. Nimbly leaping up beside her, he found he did not have the time to sit as she did for they were soon off again, running under the light of the moon. If he hadn't been so tired and hungry he would've enjoyed the nighttime run.
Finally, she came to a small earth and nudged him, clearly indicating that he should go inside.
Slightly nervous, but eternally grateful, he padded into the warmth and the safety of the vixen's cosy little home. There was little bedding of any kind but a small pile of dried grasses and clumps of fur, which he determined to be hers as he scented it.
Settling down in a corner, he waited for her to step inside also, but she didn't come. Whimpering and licking the wound he had received from the Wurmple on his flank, he curled up, resting his chin on his outstretched paws as he waited and he rested, sleep soon making his eyes feel heavy, too heavy to keep open. Feeling completely safe for the first time in several suntimes, he allowed exhaustion to win and settled into a deep and peaceful sleep.
With morning came the scent of rain and damp earth. Shivering slightly, he lifted his head and yawned, stretching out his forelegs as he loosened up his taunt muscles. Memories were fuzzy and few, he found, as he attempted to recall the events of the previous day and night, wincing as they came flooding back.
Shaking out his furry mane, he stood and padded towards the entrance of the cosy little den, lifting his nose to the breeze and once again catching that undisputable scent of rain. The dark clouds up above confirmed his suspicions.
A sudden pain caused him to yelp and he instantly attacked the painful spot on his left side, gnawing and licking as instinct told him to do. A bark, a little higher in tone and pitch than his own, soon made him stop, however, as the young vixen came trotting towards him, a Marill dangling from her black-lipped jaws, six tails flicking out simultaneously.
Ravenous, he padded quickly over to her, ears flicking back and shoulders hunching as she let out a warning growl. The vixen ate a little of the kill before tossing the mouse over to the yipping dog, who set upon it like he had been depraved of such spoils for many moontimes. Which he had. Soon, there was nothing much left but a tattered scrap of fur and the blue ball that had once been on the end of the prey's tail, however, the vixen soon made short work of those also. Marill had very few bones.
Sniffing her muzzle as though he was thanking her, the now-full dog licked at her face, which she put up with good humour, as obviously her earlier temper had left as the food had filled her own stomach.
They rolled and they played for a while, getting to know each other's scents properly. They also learned each other's names, though as they were "spoken" in slightly different dialects they had to compromise in order to pronounce them. Her name was a series of low growls and murring, which meant Eldora. His was a high-pitched yip followed by two short barks, which told her his name was Kalikow.
They also both enquired what species they each were, though as neither had names for their kind, they improvised. Eldora was a red-six-tail while Kalikow was a maned-single-tail. An everyday human would've called them both fox. A Pokétrainer would've called them Vulpix and Eevee.