Yes, pokemon does not belong to me. Tis' a pity.
It was a bright, clear, peaceful morning in the unnamed mountain valley. Still, quiet plant pokemon showed their flowers and leaves as they soaked up the first bit of sun. The night pokemon, prey and predator, had returned to their homes, and most day dwellers had yet to wake. The rattattas and pidgeys scavenged for food, knowing that the great pidgeot who nested on the mountain's peak was not yet hunting.
Abruptly, a large shadow sunk down into the valley. The plant pokemon looked up, gasped in terror, and scuttled back into the shadows to hide. Rattattas ducked under alcoves and pidgeys flew screeching to their nests. Even the great pidgeot cracked an eye in alarm. Above, it saw a huge black bird with nine fiery tails flowing behind it. The eye narrowed as it tried to decide how to deal with this newcomer to his territory.
Then the bird flew closer and the pidgeot recoiled in confusion and alarm. There were humans on that great black bird! No, it realized, staring with its keen eyes, the humans were part of the creature. What was this thing doing on his mountain?
Murkrow slowly descended into the valley, trying not to shock the ninetails gijinka during the scariest part of flying. He hadn't intended to land here, for it was too close to the city and a valley he didn't know well, but carrying the ninetails had been so exhausting to him that he knew he couldn't safely go farther. Murkrow touched ground and bent down in exhaustion. Flying had taken all of his energy, and he needed to eat something, soon. The ninetails forgotten for the moment, Murkrow swept his gaze across the valley, looking for signs of food. He didn't see many signs of life, and it dawned on him that all the smaller pokemon must have fled when he landed. He cracked a small, tired grin-he probably wouldn't have to worry much about predators. Then he frowned, realizing how different this gijinka body was, and how hard it would be to catch anything. He looked again, this time for edible plants, but he didn't recognize any.
The ninetails quietly interrupted his search.
"I think we'd better move out of this clearing. There's a pidgeot eyeing us up there."
Murkrow looked up and noticed the pidgeot. They had always been a great fear of his as a Murkrow, and he had no idea if he was capable of challenging one now.
Especially not when I'm this exhausted, he thought. The ninetail's suggestion made sense, and they slowly started moving out of the clearing. Around them, the forest grew suddenly still and quiet.
They reached a quiet spot and sat down beneath a large tree. One of the ninetails ears twitched to face up it, and Murkrow wondered if it had heard something he hadn't. The ninetails spoke again, not quite as quietly.
"You look really wiped out, you know. I can hear a pidgey up in that tree. I'm going to try and catch it, and if I do, I'll give you some, too."
The ninetails might have said more, but Murkrow didn't hear it as he drifted off into sleep.
He awoke next to a cozy fire, smelling the scent of roast something cooking over it. The ninetails gijinka looked up from its catch.
"Oh, good. You're awake. I thought you might never wake up." It said, sounding somewhat exasperated, as it tore off a piece of the meat and offered it to him. Murkrow began devouring it ravenously, as the ninetails sat and watched.
"Well, I guess you can thank me later. That's a rattatta, you know. Couldn't catch the pidgey. I'm still not used to this body." The ninetails chatted. Murkrow listened, but continued tearing into the meat.
"Uck. You must be starving." The ninetails added, watching him eat. "By the way, I thought Murkrows never slept. Guess that rumor was wrong, huh?"
Murkrow, finishing the meat, answered the ninetail's question.
"Actually, most don't. When I was growing up, I was the only one in my nest who slept. I don't know whether I wish I didn't or not, actually. I missed out on a lot my siblings did because of it, but it always felt good to wake up refreshed, and they always seemed grumpier and more irritable without it. Could I have another piece of the rattatta?"
"Sure," the ninetails said, tearing another large chunk off. "I've already ate. You can have the rest if you want." Murkrow grabbed the whole thing off the stick and began gnawing wildly at it.
"Seriously, why do you eat so fast? It'll make your stomach hurt, you know."
Murkrow realized he had a point and slowed down. A bit.
The ninetails sighed. "I guess I'm not going to get much out of you until you finish that. I have to thank you for flying me out of that place while I remember, though. And now that I think about it, sorry for attacking you that time, too. You were just so black and I had just ran into this seriously scary dark dude…"
No kidding, Murkrow thought as he polished off the rattatta.
"Good, you're done. Still hungry?"
"Yeah. Flying takes a lot of energy, and carting stuff takes a lot more." Murkrow said. "No offence intended." he added hastily.
"Glad I wasn't a burden," the ninetails dryly replied. "I found a spot where we could probably catch some more, if you want to come."
Murkrow hesitated. He had finished off wounded prey before, but murkrows were scavengers, not hunters. His hunger was yelling 'Say yes!Say yes!Sayyes!yesysesyesys' though, and he realized he might not get another opportunity for a while. Besides, he was a lot bigger than a rattatta now.
"Yes, that would be nice," he told the ninetails. "though you might have to help me out a bit."
"Yeah, having a different body threw my balance, too." said the ninetails, misinterpreting his difficulty.
"This way," the ninetails led. Murkrow started to unfurl his wings and remembered that the ninetails couldn't fly. He trudged after the ninetails on foot, trying to imitate how it moved. He noticed that it put its center of balance off, though, by leaning over, and remembered its awkward four-legged charge in the city. This ninetails was probably four-legged, he realized. It must have had a harder time adjusting its balance than I did.
"Hey, di-"Murkrow began. "Shhh" said the ninetails, pointing towards some bushes and dropping to all fours. Murkrow strained to see what it was pointing at, but didn't notice anything unusual. "What is it?" he whispered. "I don't see anything."
The ninetails looked at him like he was an idiot, and whispered back "Hear, not see. Faint scuttering sounds. Coming often but quietly- something small, with short legs. It noticed us, though-I'm not hearing anything more. This close it probably froze, and didn't run. It's alert now, so we can't sneak up on it, but we might still get it in one leap if we aim well." Murkrow was about to ask how he was supposed to aim if he had no idea where the thing was when the ninetails jerked out, a red blur leaping for a random bush. A pidgey hopped out, and before the ninetails could intercept, it had flapped its wings and taken several short bursts of flight into a tree a decent ways away.
"Rats," the ninetails grumbled.
No, birds, Murkrow thought, rather confused by the proceedings.
"I hate flying types."
Gee, thanks.
"There's a lot of them around here, actually. Was this some sort of migratory bird-haven when you grew up, or something?" the ninetails asked, having returned from its misaimed leap.
"No, but there always has been a large bird population. Then again, it has been a while since I've been here. Some Fearow might have found it, I guess."
"So um, that aside, you couldn't hear the pidgey?"
"Um, well… no. I guess you have better hearing."
"Smell, too, for what I've seen of you, though that wouldn't have helped you with that pidgey. Bad wind." The ninetails added, slightly presumptuously.
"Well, I probably have better sight," Murkrow returned. "Especially at night."
"Pheh," the ninetails grunted, its tone condescending, but its head turned away much like a toddler who walked away at the end of a lost argument for the sake of pretending it had not.
Suddenly, it turned back.
"You're not a hunter, are you?" it asked, eeying him in a manner that made Murkrow feel slightly uncomfortable.
"Not by nature. But I'm omnivorous, and I've killed things before, so don't worry about me getting squeamish. I'm just not used to deliberately trying to hunt something." Murkrow said, hoping that he'd managed to convey that he was neither expert hunter nor suitable prey.
The ninetails seemed to accept the response. "Well, that makes things a bit more difficult. I'm used to hunting pokemon that don't fly, and it took me forever to find that rattatta. I was hoping you might be able to catch some of these weaker fliers."
"I might be able to do that," Murkrow added hesitantly, a bit put off by the ninetail's seeming assumption that he was inept, despite the fact that he had encouraged it. "I have a large wingspan, though; I might get caught in all these trees."
"Hmm… that might actually be helpful in a clearing. You could use it like a net, maybe?"
"I guess…" Murkrow trailed off, not entirely sure what the ninetails meant.
"Let's try this, then."
-Several hours later-
Murkrow crouched in a tree at the edge of the clearing, waiting. It had grown dark, but he hadn't had much trouble adjusting.
Suddenly, from behind him, he heard a loud crash and felt the warmth of a blast of fire on his back. Keeping his reflexes in check, he studied his surroundings for any trace of other movement, any other creature startled by the disruption. He hardly had to wait seconds. Several small creatures ran fleeing into the clearing, where he dropped like a hawk on them, stabbing at the nimble little prey-things until all had either escaped or been stabbed. He had caught three; two spearows and a rattatta. Their blood was oozing into the ground and dripping from his claws. An unclean kill, yes, but food was food.
Despite the raw odors, Murkrow picked them up without any hunger pains as the ninetails emerged from the woods. He had already eaten over thirteen of the small creatures, shocking himself with the sheer number. There would be no more flying excursions for a while.
"Here," Murkrow said, proffering one. "You like rattatta, right?"
"Nah, I've eaten enough," the ninetails said. "I bumped my head pretty hard back there. It's getting too dark for me to do this. Let's stash these and settle in for the night."
"Okay," Murkrow said, his claws still unsheathed, the two spearows pierced like marshmallows waiting for toasting. He'd only been to a campfire a few times, but could personally attest to the taste of the little white things, especially cooked. They were so much harder to snatch, but oh, were they good.
It took them a little while longer to reach their makeshift shelter, a small cave Murkrow had found. In the back was a decent pile of their days work, and a cozy fire burned in the middle. Murkrow noted uncomfortably that the blood from the prey had seeped out, forming a dark maroon stain on the impermeable stone floor.
As the ninetails heated a small depression on the right side of the fire, Murkrow hung the spearows and rattatta over the flame. A short burst from the ninetails charred them black, and Murkrow sighed and added them to the pile.
Odd, he thought. I thought we had more than this when we left on that last excursion.
That wasn't good. The fire ought to have discouraged all but the most nasty, or desperate, of pokemon. Having gotten one free meal, the creature would likely try again. Maybe I should stand watch.
"What's taking so long?" the ninetails muttered, sleepily.
"I think something stole from our hoard," Murkrow replied, not quite as sleepily.
"Oh, great." The ninetailed snapped, now considerably more awake. "Any thoughts on what it might be?"
"Well…" Murkrow looked down, searching for signs. Sure enough, some paw prints were vaguely impressed in the blood.
"There are prints, but I can't say what made them."
"Smells like dog." The ninetails said nastily, leaning over his shoulder.
"A pack, or single?"
"Single, I can tell that much. It's an unusual scent, though. It's got that same dog feel, but it isn't any of the types I know."
"Well, single probably means desperate. Dogs normally travel in packs," Murkrow said, as he turned away from the pile, following the increasingly smaller spots of blood that marked the tracks of the dog.
"Yeah, and that would explain why it was such a sloppy job, too. The thing was probably starving."
That stopped Murkrow. The ninetails had made a very good point- for it to be this desperate and shoddy, the creature probably was starving. And if it was, why hadn't it eaten more of the stash? Even an intelligent pokemon wouldn't have bothered trying to steal with impunity if it was starving and there was food to be had.
Which meant that something had scared it off. There weren't any other tracks but its and their own, so they had been the ones that it had run from. Plus, he noted, the blood from its tracks was still a little wet, despite the fire.
"Ninetails, it's probably still nearby. Try smelling for it, or something."
The ninetails obediently stuck its head outside. A few minutes later, it turned back, a smug look on its face.
"You're right," it whispered. "It isn't even that far from the mouth of the cave. Front right, in the direction of that stream. It must have soaked itself in it before coming here. Smart trick. The water would evaporate quickly because of the fire, so it wouldn't leave any tracks, and it would disguise the scent. That's why I didn't notice it coming in. I've found it now, though, so it doesn't matter."
"We should probably catch it or kill it. We can't have it raiding the pile in the night."
"Odd, though. For the time, the scent's spread too much. … seems a little large for a hondoom." The ninetails added, distractedly.
Murkrow, however, had already stealthily slunk out of the cave, keeping to the shadows where his jacket and plumage kept him from the dog's sight. His eyes had caught a glimpse of a quivering bush where his experience told him the wind shouldn't have been strong, and he crept up on it the same focused but careful way he had crept up on the near-dead, starving creatures that got lost in the city alleyways. The ones that were close enough to gone for him to risk a fight but still alive enough to be somewhat dangerous.
Unfortunately, as the ninetails could have told him, dogs don't hunt on sight alone. The air was fairly still, so his scent wasn't immediately blown to it, but Murkrow was only about half way to its hiding place when the bush shook violently as a large, yellow white creature burst out of it, rapidly sprinting away on all fours. Giving up stealth, Murkrow pumped his wings, hard, and soared forward, just above the low trees. The dog, confused, scared, hungry, and slowed by the vegetation, only managed to keep ahead for a second or two before Murkrow forcefully brought his sharp talons down on its back, and shrieked in pain as he realized that what he had thought was the dog's fur was actually hardened, sharp quills. Then he gasped again as it sent an electric shock through his body. Wrenching his talons free, he fell out of the sky and hit the ground, dazed but not knocked out. The dog agilely spun around, and was about to rake its electrified claws down Murkrow's torso when the blast of flame hit it squarely on the underbelly. Obviously hurt, it staggered back a few steps as Murkrow silently reminded himself to thank the ninetails for its timely intervention. It never got a chance to get back on its feet before Murkrow pinned it against a tree with a quick Pursuit and pressed his claws to its throat.
For the first time, Murkrow got a good look at its face. It was human.
One internet cookie to the first person to correctly identify the dog's species in a review!