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He woke as Runa left the bag, and quickly. He'd exposed himself, was his first thought—he let something slip, and now she was tying up the bag to flee—but then the Zubat cried again, and he understood: it was the Clefairy, come to try and steal her.

Runa had on her shoes and jacket; a Zubat dove near, and Torus used the telekinesis, threw it away. Some botched heist by the rotten Pokémon, he thought, flapping and shrieking as they were; the bags were strewn about, everything scattered as the Zubat failed to lift them and made off with single items, an apple, a ball of rice. Tanwen shot a Fire Blast but failed to hit, each diving between the arms, and Runa said to let them go, that if they were fleeing there was no use hurting them on top. Then Dyna shot lightning after one with a cry of "Amph!", and by the light he saw what a pair of Zubat had gotten, what Rita called out after:

"[Runa's bag!]"

He flew after them. It was her half-crescent bag, what she took off going into bed with him, what was on her waist when they met, containing all the most important things, the badges, the cards, Runa's phone with the map. She couldn't possibly lose it—they'd set everything back by months, leave them stranded in the cave! Couldn't the rotten Zubat tell there wasn't any food in it, that it had no worth to them at all, yet meant the world to Runa?

He was gaining on them; Gaia as well, behind him. "[I'll shoot,]" she said—"[you catch.]"

She was a much better shot anyhow; a wrong hit and the gear would be ruined, the bag burnt to pieces. She let off a Thunderbolt behind him, hit the leading Zubat squarely: the other grabbed her criminal partner and made off, let the bag go, tumbling downward like a hoop. He rushed forward, reached it just in time: his spike passed through, and the bag stuck halfway down his neck.

It didn't look damaged: the pouches were all shut. And Runa would say it was all right, that it didn't matter much if they lost it, that it only took asking to replace a lost badge, but that was beside the point. It was Runa's bag the day he met her, on her waist when she freed them in the Corner; it had the their first ever photograph, he behind Gaia and Runa's leg. And it was possible, he thought, that it was where she kept the balls, the ones that legally tied them to her, without which any rot could try and steal them.

Gaia seemed to think the same: she looked and said, "[Nothing fell out, did it?]"

But at the camp, he saw, there was a great commotion: the stupid Zubat were carrying off Dyna's whole bag, but at an angle so that all the loose things rained out; and Dyna, howling and throwing a rock after them now knelt and, swelling with an enormous charge, summoned what had to be a full-blown Thunder. And perhaps she aimed some rightly—the Zubat dropped the bag and fled, chattering away into the distance—but one bolt flew astray at a right angle, arcing up into one of the stalactites, which, being as it was coated in water and ice, burst to pieces. And like so many Bullet Seeds, in a moment, he saw, dozens were falling, directly above the camp.

Perhaps he cried out, as Gaia started, but none of them looked; nobody saw, except Torus, who raise his spoons above his head. There was a great flash, through which he couldn't see—and then he heard the stalactites crash into the camp, and then it was all black.

They were dead, he thought—all gored at once. Runa's body would be cold before he even reached her: he might have pulled her out, shielded her with his own flesh, but he abandoned her and now she died. Gaia called after him, said more may fall—let it be! If Runa was gone he would throw himself on the same spike!

It was all quiet now, all the Zubat gone into the tunnels, nobody calling out. He shot a flame over the camp to see. But there was no one he could spot, no Runa, no Dyna or Torus; the spots where Tanwen and Rita had been were ringed by ash. Had they all vapourised? Was that how Fire types died, obliterating everything around? But Runa—where was—

"[They teleported,]" Gaia said, arriving behind him, her horn projecting a white light. "[They're safe. Calm down.]"

How could he be calm? What if Torus was too slow? What if one of the pieces struck—

"[They're probably in Violet City by now,]" Gaia said. "[Nobody's hurt, I'm sure.]"

"[How d'you know?]" he said. He wasn't well, he knew; Gaia looked at him a little afraid. "[Did you see?]"

"[When they were fifty feet up, at least,]" she said. "[They're all fine. Runa's fine. You have to calm down. She wouldn't want you going to pieces.]"

Of course, he thought, any appeal to Runa now was past his limit: he burst into tears and fell over her. He'd nearly lost Runa forever—lost, because he flew away and left her! If she was safe … But Torus had no reason not to save them. She was in Violet City. She was well and laughing at the close shave. The nurses at the Pokémon Centre remembered her and asked about her trip. But how certain it seemed that everything had ended! Now that feeling returned he became such a wreck; he was trembling uncontrollably; Gaia shushed him as he buried his face in her neck. And now Runa would be looking about, checking they all were present; and seeing he was missing, Gaia was missing, she was now flying into a panic, he knew, saying they had to go back, that she wished they forgot her bag, that it wasn't worth it. She would fret horribly on his account. Calm, Gaia said; and now Runa was lacking both her Dragonair, whom the Goldenrod Gazette said she was never seen without.

Gaia uncoiled and touched her nose to his. "[Stay with me,]" she said, "[all right? We'll protect each other.]"

"[Th— Thank you,]" he said.

"[As if I'd leave you, gummy,]" she said, and rose again. "[Come on, let's see what's left.]"

The light of her horn increased, not so bright as Dyna's tail but bright enough to show up the cave around them. Most of the bags were left behind, not picked up in the teleport, and the stone had crashed all over them. Tanwen's, he saw, was torn right through; her ginger ale was leaking out onto the stone. It all seemed unnaturally still, now; but the Zubat might return any minute, if they saw no more resistance.

"[I can't keep this up forever,]" Gaia said. "[See if you can find the lamp. We need to take stock and decide what to do.]"

And thank all the legendaries, he thought, or fate, or whatever things that perhaps were responsible that Gaia was still here with him! Where would he be without her? A gibbering mess, still thinking Runa was dead, bound to gore himself on some piece of rock, and fail at it. But the frame of Runa's bag, as it was, was all twisted up: a rock went in about where his head had been on Runa's middle and pulled the bag's mouth down with it, tore the fabric. But perhaps the lamp survived … There it was, flung to the side. He pulled it up: it worked.

"[Can you hang it on that?]" she said. Of course, Runa's bag was still on his neck. It might have slipped all the way down Gaia, but it stuck about where Runa's head had been.

"[Well, a lot of it's ruined,]" Gaia said, looking out at the camp. "[But we don't need everything. There's enough food we won't go hungry. We should be fine until Runa gets here.]"

But was that the plan, he thought, only to wait? Runa walking through the wilds alone, he thought; Runa apart from them for days longer than was necessary. And suppose she expected them to come? "[Won't the Zubat come back?]" he said.

"[I don't think we should wander,]" Gaia said. "[Do we even have a map?]"

"[It's on her phone,]" he said. "[Can … can they find us without it?]"

"[They have Torus,]" she said. That solved it, of course: Alakazam had—what was it called?—an eidetic memory, one that remembered everything. "[They'll find us just fine, but not if we wander.]"

"[But we should meet them,]" he said, coming up beside. "[Or, or meet them halfway, at least, and save time. We can bring most of it, can't we? What if she expects us to work it out? Shouldn't we prove we're independent?]"

"[It really bothers you?]" she said, looking at him. And what did she expect? he thought, that he would pretend not to care for Runa in a case like this? But she seemed to reconsider; liked perhaps the thought of proving themselves. "[All right. Let's head back as far as the entrance. Then they'll be sure to pass, and we won't miss them in the forest. We'll find a spot to wait, and Torus will see.]"

It was as if they were arranging tea, he thought, how little Gaia minded: she was hardly even flustered, even now with Runa missing. It's just one of those things that happens, she seemed to say, so why not accept it and relax? His timidity was just another factor to account.

"[We don't have to carry everything,]" Gaia said, pulling open Tanwen's bag. "[I'll get this and Dyna's—you start picking up anything important of Runa's. We'll be much quicker now that we can make our own pace, don't you think? She'll probably just take us through again after. Let's leave some food for the Zubat, so they don't bother us.]"

Did they deserve it, he thought, when they were the cause of everything? But Gaia was sensible; seemed nearly happy at the circumstance, as (so she said) they would prove themselves capable alone. Gaia always was the best at being independent, as Runa taught them. He would do everything she ordered; she would take the map, and lead them to Runa.

To leave anything of Runa's, he found, was impossible, so Gaia decided for him.

Most of the others' possessions survived: Dyna's light ball, which doubled as a lamp they could charge; Rita's scarves which became a padding for the straps—nothing belonging to Torus, who must have been holding his bag as they teleported. —Left the rest for us, Gaia said. Tanwen's bag, however, was ruined, most of it bottles of ginger ale that now were burst, only a little wrapped-up parcel that, so far as they could tell by its sound, contained a soothe bell or something like it. His bag was mostly food, untouched by the stupid Zubat for how heavy it looked. He laid out most of his apples for them, and Gaia put most of them right back in, as he could hardly stomach anything else. —You'd be fitter if you weren't such a sweet tooth, she said. If the Zubat didn't like Dyna's food, all limes and bitter tarts, they'd eat it just the same for sustenance. That was enough for their bags; but Runa's possessions, so far as he felt, were too important: everything she kept seemed irreplaceable.

He argued to take her sleeping bag—the same bag they used to share. There was no point, Gaia said: it was punched right through and ruined, and Runa ought to get a larger one anyway as they would soon be able to carry as much as they wanted, Dragonite being so much stronger.

Then there were the draft papers. They were smeared and sodden, all the broken icy rock getting on them, and Gaia said, quite rightly, that Torus could rewrite every draft from memory, that nothing whatever was lost; but he insisted they'd take them, nearly snapped at her that they were a masterpiece or some nonsense. Runa would only replace them in weeks, said many times they were only provisional—but she would know that he cared, that he considered them important, and had been listening. They went into the bag. The rest of her clothes, all he could fit, did the same, and her books: nearly everything of hers came along, and, Gaia said, he would be the one carrying it. She seemed irritated that he would bother, said that Runa could do without those particular clothes and books for a few days, if not forever. But Runa wrote in the margins, sometimes. In the end he only returned it all to Runa's bag and took the whole thing, tied it up below his neck so that he still might move easily; and between that and her waist bag and her hat (for it too had fallen) perched between his horn and feathers, he looked, she said, just like Runa.

—She'll think you want to replace her. (He must have turned pink: she laughed.)

She hardly worried at all, he thought, as they tracked back through the cave (it wouldn't be more than a day, she said, now that they could fly properly). She seemed almost excited, as though they only set off on a fond adventure. They were like their own group now, she said, their own team. So she carried on conversation, to ease his mind, he knew, and distract him from worrying about Runa.

—But you're about the fastest on the team. I may be a bit more experienced but it's in your nature to be quick: I never had it.

—… You're quick, though.

—I'm not quick: I'm sturdy. Maybe I'd win a battle, but you'd win a race, for sure.

—Only till you evolve.

—And then you'll evolve. Then everything'll be different. We won't have trouble holding a few bags, that's for sure. We'll have arms and legs like them, and wings too. We'll be big enough to carry everyone, easily, and then forget all this surface business. It'll be the two of us: Runa's two Dragonite! We'll be champions with her. Don't you think?

He would never again wrap around Runa, he thought, embrace her on the full length of both sides. As a Dragonite, it may be he was too heavy to fly.

—Do you ever feel bad? About the others. I mean if we evolve.

—Why? Why should that make them feel bad?

—Well … they're all fully evolved, and … you know, I still think you're the best on the team. Tanwen has to try really hard just to keep up with you. But everyone says Dragonite are really powerful. Then she won't be a match at all, no matter how hard she tries.

—Tanwen's issues aren't my fault or yours or Runa's. She only thinks about herself, not the team: there's no changing it. It's easier to let her be that way.

He did not pursue it. But was it compatible, he thought, with Runa's philosophy? She would say she only wanted for their dreams; but this was the contradiction, where one's dreams ran into opposition with another's: Tanwen, wanting the top spot, whilst Gaia wanted the same, for that was what Gaia wanted, to become the greatest Dragonite in the world, and—nobody would say it aloud, of course—the greatest Dragonite was surely more powerful than the greatest Typhlosion could be.

Gaia was in no hurry, of course; always let things come at their own pace so long as there was steady improvement; let the conversation wander as he liked, except to take it off Runa when he returned to her, to save his worry. But every so often it returned, and she had something to say.

—I don't get you.

—But she is! She understands us, even without Torus. Don't you think she's a, a genius in reading Pokémon?

—That's a bit strong. She doesn't really understand what we say. She makes mistakes in reading us all the time.

—But better than any human, I mean. And, there's her way. In battling. No one's come up with anything like it!

And Gaia sighed, looked away; You're getting that way again, she meant to say, defending Runa from the least criticism when, as Gaia saw it, she was only being sensible, and not attacking her at all.

—It's her way to let us do what we want, isn't it?

—It's her way to help us find our dreams.

—Right. But what we want every moment isn't necessarily what helps our dreams. That's why I said it's not good to only train us in what we want. Suppose we really want to be more powerful, like Tanwen. Now suppose, as she did until recently, that Tan thinks the best way is to practice Flame Wheel, because it's versatile, but which isn't as powerful, especially now she's bigger and can't spin as well. Well, Runa only knows that she wants to train in Flame Wheel. So she lets her; but then she isn't helping her actual dream to get powerful as quick as possible, because it's bad training. The better way is for Tan to practice, say, Fire Blast, which Tan doesn't like since it's hard to land, and she isn't patient enough to practise. If Runa only let her do what she likes, she wouldn't practise Fire Blast, and she'd be stunted. So by listening to what Tan says she wants rather than what's actually best for her, Runa would really be hurting her by letting her waste her effort. Do you get it?

Now it was wretched, he knew, the sort of thing Runa thought very base, when someone said a rational thing but, all the same, he felt himself rallying against it. He couldn't stand anything against Runa: his heart fluttered and his face flushed: he became, as Dyna said, all lit up. That was when Rita and Tanwen knew to rib him, Dyna too if she felt like it, and he had to be quiet or risk speaking too far, and they all stopped laughing and looked at him. Humans, Gaia thought, were useful and interesting and could make good friends—that was it, and such had been her opinion since long before Runa, having seen humans now and then around the rivers and lakes she once lived in, and such was the opinion of most other Pokémon. In the Corner, however, before he knew better, he would lose all proportion and say that humans were the most amazing creatures in the world, until all the cages tittered. Then, as he defended himself, as they began to treat him seriously, someone threw out that word, like a Voltorb about to burst in his face: anthropophile, a human-lover. He'd never heard it (some show he missed), but he could tell it was something horrific and medical, some disorder, just the thing to describe him. So he coiled up at once, declared rather a want for a trainer he may follow, or some comfortable human family, so as to be free from the cage and all worry. So they laughed—he, the fat and timid Dratini, imagined a trainer, to train! But that was safer than to say he only wanted a lap, or a hand, something to stroke and feel. Not hours ago, so Runa gave him. She did not treat him as she did the others; she was overjoyed when he started training, because she thought that his dream, if not to become a battler, was at least to conquer his fears; and as it meant nothing at all to him, the battling at any rate, wasn't it the case he obstructed not just his own dream, but Runa's as well? For he lied and so he undermined her dream, to help another's dream truly. That was the real contradiction. Runa, her phenomenal quality, made her think only of others and not herself; so she never imagined a Pokémon could be happy with just her company, seeing so much more in them.

It was all a mess, of course, and his fault too. But how much easier if he could only cut through the fog, without this barrier of language between them! Then he could express himself clearly, that he only wanted to be near; find out how to help her truly; even explain, perhaps, his love, that it wasn't a thing he could help, and so beg her not to leave him. Why wasn't it possible, just to speak? Pokémon could understand humans, had an understanding of language right from the egg which, even for a wilder, included human languages, however that worked. (He would have to ask Torus; and it wasn't complete, at any rate, as the understanding of certain concepts and ideas still escaped them, and that was a large part of language.) And yet humans, who were otherwise superior in every way, lacked the same, had to learn even their own languages from scratch, had to use their gift for adaptation which, so it seemed, was the source of language in the first place. And as no human dex existed of Pokémon speech, to this day only psychics and a ghost or two could speak to them, as they could in a way project the language, rather than learn to speak it. But were Pokémon so unadaptable that they couldn't even learn how to speak?

—What if she could understand us, and we could just tell her what we're really thinking, you know, what we really want? Do you think a human could learn? Or, or could a Pokémon learn to speak like a human?

—You mean like Torus?

—No, really speaking. With a voice. Hasn't it been done before? Do, do you remember the documentary on the Devon Corporation? They were trying to build a translator for Pokémon so that humans could understand us, like we understand then. That's owned by the Stones, isn't it? Doesn't Runa know them?

—It's just psychics. I don't know about a translator—I don't remember. But why do you need one? We've got Torus. He can ask her anything. Beyond that, isn't it enough to speak to other Pokémon?

—But— But then Runa could really know what we want!

—And can't Torus tell her?

—What if I don't want to use Torus? Some bird Pokémon can talk like humans, even if they don't match the words. Can't we figure it out? What if we practised and learnt how?

And she said, —I don't know; and now she was getting impatient, he saw, and wanted to be done with the conversation. But it had to be possible, speaking to humans … that or his nature was sabotaging himself, wanting further things that were impossible. Yet it couldn't be impossible, as ghosts could do it, and didn't speaking in such words mean a power to assemble language? It was just a matter of practising the words, surely. But what a thing! he thought, for such ghost Pokémon to become at will a human, to only speak and be understood, not to need all these gestures and looks to convey a meaning, not to need some psychic proxy. As for all they said about Dragonair being elegant and graceful, it only meant they had less latitude to express themselves, really among the most constrained of all, like a Snubbull stuck in one look. A Dragonair could flush and look sorry, and trill—that was it. But to speak! to look up at Runa and say … But Dragonite were supposed to be clever. After evolution, perhaps, he might find a way, learn somehow to speak human, it being not impossible but only difficult, and no one before him had been as motivated. Then with the right words he might let her understand, explain his feelings, that he'd bottle them up forever if she wanted it, if only she let—

—Are you going to try and teach yourself or something? Gaia said.

—Oh! I … It probably isn't possible.

—Well, maybe when you evolve, if you're still more interested in talking to humans than other Pokémon, you'll find a way.

She was quiet a long while after that, but why should it bother her, his only being foolish again?

The moon was half full. He hardly saw a thing until they reached the entrance; and then they were out on the road, east of Violet City, the stars above them. For a moment he thought only hours had passed, still dark, but Gaia said it was the next day, that they had travelled from night to night, and would probably, depending on Runa's speed, be waiting for three or four days.

—But we can find her, he said—let's keep going.

He wasn't thinking, she said: Runa may take a shortcut, try to return quickly, even get a flight or a car and then miss them on the road. And wasn't he tired? For Gaia yawned and pulled his bag. There was a nook in the wall with a narrow opening which, Gaia said, would conceal them from anyone but Torus.

—Besides, we're a big target to any trainers out there, if they think we're wilders. We'll lose Runa for sure if we wandered; here, she's coming straight to us. Just leave it to Torus.

She seemed deflated, he thought, as she laid down her bag and stretched; she seemed to feel a thing grew tedious, didn't turn out as she imagined, this adventure (they had not encountered a single wilder, flying all the while, nor another trainer on the road), and after their falling out (for now he had to call it that, hardly speaking in the last few hours) only wanted it over and done with. The loss of Runa, however terrible it felt in the instant, was just another unplanned trip to Saffron: Runa stepped out for just a minute, and was on her way back directly, at no risk whatsoever of losing her, and nothing to show they were lost without her.

The nook was just a hollow near the ground, probably some old rock Pokémon or Excadrill's nest, hardly three or four times the size of Runa's sleeping bag, tight enough to bother Dyna, perhaps, but cage-life had cured them of any fear of small spaces. Gaia stood their bags up inside the entrance. She didn't look at him, still tired of his company, he thought. But he asked, and she was perfectly normal. Nothing was the matter, she said. They would lie and rest; and perhaps, she said, Runa would be along sooner than they guessed. Would they feel her coming? he thought. Would Torus send out some psychic ping, something to guide them? Gaia took out her food; told him to have his, that his stomach was grumbling.

After a while he said, "[Can … can I ask you something?]"

She looked at him over her lemon juice and said, "[Hm?]"

But how did one go about saying it? That was the thing about long friendships: either things opened up and became available, one's deepest thinking exposed, or the differences, the willing support, were taken as granted and not discussed, all depending on the characters. For him and Gaia, there was plenty of talk on different subjects, but after so long in the cage taking the other for granted, to say anything about their actual friendship now was too unusual. And really he did not know Gaia's mind; where he let half of everything out, hid the rest closely, she neither cared to share things nor cared not to: she'd answer any question, with pleasure even, yet volunteer nothing, so at ease with herself and others that she never minded. If only he had that nature!—if only, he thought, finishing his apple, he had her lack of passion. For it wasn't that she felt less—she was as affected as anyone in a just cause—but that her feeling obeyed to a powerful calm, a simple grace, which for other dragons like himself was unusual. It was why they deferred to her in everything, in the Corner; it was what made her now, they all knew, the centre of the team, being fair and constant, and always would be. She said hard things about Tanwen, not because she was bitter, but because they were true. And she'd be famous, already was in some city papers; she would stand on the dais and hoist the cup, and he, if he was there at all, would be lucky to be seen beside her.

So it was low of him, he thought, looking away, to ask such a thing—what she thought of him—not caring for her opinion's sake but only thinking of himself in relation to Runa. But if Runa was to hold him, when she returned, and become emotional, if he was to know how to act and check his behaviour, to be essential to her so that she may never bear his leaving …

He said, "[I was just wondering what you thought about me. You know … after all this time.]"

She swallowed; it did not appear to go down correctly. "[Uh,]" she said, coughing. "[I'm sorry. I'm not sure how you mean.]"

He lay down; for that was the trouble, he thought, when despite long friendship, the two natures opposed, and one had to spill out whilst the other was made to endure it—sucking her dry, perhaps. To train was difficult; the others looked at him; so he may look at Gaia and, without saying anything, she would know he sought her support and, as if to say she wouldn't hear it, that he thought too little of himself and didn't need her affirmation, she frowned and looked away. But perhaps the once he may only say it, he thought, without the others near, and she'd be different.

"[I'm not dumb,]" he said—"[not that dumb. I know you talked to me in the Corner because we were stuck and there was nothing else to do. If we'd met before you'd never … And, and I know you don't feel that way now—I know we're real friends—but I'm just wondering how much is because I'm any different, or … or because you already knew me.]"

She looked at him for a long moment; and without warning she put her tail on his bag, which stood beside him, and tipped it onto his head.

"[That's the most rotten thing you've ever said to me,]" she said, removing it. "[As if I don't choose my friends for themselves! Do you think I'm so desperate I'd spend time with someone I didn't like? Do you think if I thought you were worthless I'd come and talk to you? You're just so bad at judging yourself you think it's impossible anyone could like you.]"

"[I'm sorry,]" he said, as she brushed him off. "[I know, I … I don't know anything. It's just—]"

"[Runa thought it was me you were sad about, in the Corner,]" she said. She looked away; for this was one of the few things that made her uncomfortable, his speaking gravely out of nowhere. "[I knew it wasn't that, though. You weren't even thinking of me, were you? You just wanted Runa.]"

"[I—]" he said. What did she know? She spoke to Torus. "[I, I just wanted a trainer.]"

"[You just wanted somebody who'd love you, and protect you,]" she said, and she sighed, coiling alongside him: she didn't know. "[I get it. After the Corner, we all wanted some security. But you're more than just some sponge. What is it you asked, what I think of you? Here's the truth. I think you're number two in the team, after me, and even then it's just because I've had more training. I think you think you're stupid, and maybe you're a bit naive, but that's not the same. You can be the smartest person I know, after Torus. You know more about the world and humans than any of us. And you're not fat either. You're in better shape now than you've ever been, and I swear it's a condition. And you're not as scared as you used to be. You've got a timid nature, but you're working through it. If you weren't dedicated to improving yourself, you couldn't have evolved for Runa. You're a proper dragon, Shadow, whatever you think.]"

She indulged him, of course—she didn't really think all that, when he was so pathetic he couldn't look at her as she was speaking. "[I'm not proper,]" he said. "[Why do you say, 'for Runa'?]"

"[It's perfectly obvious, Shadow,]" she said. (But she couldn't know, he thought; she wouldn't touch him if she knew.) "[You do everything you can, try and be whatever she thinks you want to be, just so she's happy. Then, you think, you'll be special to her.]"

But could she know? "[Special?]" he said.

"[Because then she'll never want to let you go,]" she said, "[and won't release you, or put you in a box. But Runa'd never do that to any of us—it's just your worrying makes you imagine. We're all special to her. She's on her way here right now, and you know she'll apologise like it was her fault and say she'll never let us out of sight again. You're already safe with Runa, Shadow. You just have to relax and not worry so much, and start appreciating what's around you.]"

Was it possible, he thought, for she said she really didn't mind his nature, was it possible that Gaia might find out about him, his true feeling, and not think worse of him? For really she deserved to know: she knew him so long, knew things none of the others did, and wouldn't this explain him entirely? Wasn't that what friends were for, he thought, to confide things, to expose oneself and, once accepted, to ease some worry, lend their strength? He owed everything to Gaia, his part in the team, his even beginning to train. Without her looking back for him, he would not even be with Runa—she deserved to know. (But he couldn't say it, no, not to Gaia; and Torus would see, and think they were in league together, that he tried to build support, and now would use Gaia to get at her.)

He said, "[Th— Thank you.]" And Gaia smiled and lay beside him.

Out across the cave some Geodude or other thumped a rock and the echo carried on a long while. In the alcove, tucked away with Gaia between him and the entrance, even without Runa he felt safe. She and Torus were on their way presently; and as if connected by threads which bundled as she approached, and in a few days or hours she would find them and never, she would say, taking his head in her arms, never leave again, he felt just to lay on the rock with Gaia (and he would have fallen to pieces without her) was such a happy thing that whatever worries bothered him before seemed a puff of nonsense, all up and vanished like a teleport.

Gaia said, "[Can I ask you a question?]" Anything, of course! He nodded.

She said, rather quietly, "[What do you think of me?]"

He raised his head. Not that it wasn't fair to ask—perfectly so, after his question—but then it was odd to think she wondered, or did not already know, for did he ever mask his feeling for her? But she looked at him, looked as if she had reason to worry!

He said, "[Well, you're the best on the team. The best Runa has! Th-there's not a day I don't wish I was more like you. You're so sure and, and relaxed, and—]"

But something was lacking; Gaia looked at him; she wanted something, he thought, that he wasn't considering, that as a friend she had a right to expect. But what?

I'd be lost without you.

You're my best friend.

"[Y— You're my favourite Pokémon ever,]" he said.

And she couldn't help but smile; she hooked her neck around his, pulled until his head was on her middle. "[Aw,]" she said. "[That's sweet. Coming from you, that's really warm.]"

Was it what she wanted? he thought. For she gave a great sigh and, stretching a moment, turned and laid her head on him.

In a minute she was up again and said, "[I'm cold.]" She pulled the bag up and began to lay it out like a barrier. "[Let's stay close. Are you sleepy?]"

He ought to be; but the fresh air of the valley, he felt, still left him alert. In a moment the alcove entrance was half-covered, and they would be quite safe from all: a little short-roofed cul-de-sac no Zubat could squeeze through without them knowing, and in any case Gaia, who now was making space and telling him to lay out and get comfortable, could quake right out of the cave if necessary, should some Ryhorn appear and charge them: they were perfectly safe. And—oh! There fell out with his apples, on the ground, Runa's notes. He would pack them tightly, let her see as she came that he saved them. Or perhaps Gaia wanted to hear?

"[Do you want to hear Runa's draft?]" he said. After so long in the Corner, reading human script was second nature, and Runa's handwriting (all connected, all in one curved line) was easy, even through the stains and damp. She wouldn't lose any work from it, could reproduce everything even without Torus.

Gaia lay out and looked away as he switched on the lamp, dimmer now than it was. "[Aren't you tired?]" she said.

"[I can't sleep,]" he said. For he hadn't memorised it, couldn't remember anything apart from pieces! He must read.

Gaia reached over and, taking the pad in her mouth, laid it by the neck of his bag and said, "[Tomorrow.]" She turned off the lamp and stretched out over him, laying her head on his middle. "[Let's sleep,]" she said.

But he couldn't sleep, not without Runa. So he would wait until Gaia slept and then, by a light glow from his horn, if he could maintain it, look them over again and again until she arrived. For she may arrive in the morning, and he had to remember everything, or wouldn't he be a rotten Pokémon to Runa, as if he didn't care at all for her dream?