Featherbeak roused to the sound of tiny, uncertain footsteps somewhere near his tree and immediately it rouse him to full wakefulness despite the fact that it was early sunset at best. The noises continued and he silently hopped forward to the lip of the knothole that served as his den; immediately taking to the tree limb that served as his perch, he studied the forest floor intently for only a moment before spotting movement in the dim light.
Could fortune have been so kind as to deliver today's meal right here to me in my tree? He wondered hopefully, tensing as a small thicket of undergrowth twitched slightly – the noises continued, filling Featherbeak with anticipation – tragically, a nestling must have strayed from its den and parents judging by the sound of it, and had gotten lost. A pity. I suppose the burden falls upon me to… 'Take care' of theyoungling. He thought, amused; the undergrowth moved again, no longer able to shield Featherbeak from catching his first glimpse at its unsuspecting occupant.
Silently, he dropped like a rock – and then veered away at the last second. The tiny creature that he had lunged at jumped nearly out of her little blue skin at the wholly unexpected appearance of such a comparatively large creature, and she stumbled back several feet, squeaking in alarm – undeterred, Featherbeak drew himself up to his full height, wings half-raised should pursuit be necessary. However, as he blinked away the bright light of day, his eyes adjusted and he paused to weigh the situation – his decision to veer away had been well served.
Quivering slightly, a blue Nidoran pup stared nervously up at him, uncertainty and nervousness etched in every fiber of its being; it paused, evidently encouraged by the fact that Featherbeak had not immediately attacked… But also wholly unsure of whether or not to approach the fearsome looking bird either. Absently, Featherbeak searched his memory briefly: Blues of this species are male, I think. No… Was it female? Yes, I believe this one's female – More tender.
Featherbeak took a step forward, and the tiny blue female shrank into a ball reflexively – dozens of tiny, pine needle-like spines rose up all along her body, giving Featherbeak pause again. This little morsel seems vaguely familiar… His sharp mind worked for just a moment, trying to place where he'd encountered the little creature, and forgetting the effort with a growl of his stomach.
The pup quivered once – she might have tried to edge away a step, but was held too firmly in the iron grip of fear to actually move; Featherbeak's beak worked once, studying the spiny creature. It would be childishly easy – no pun intended – to dispatch the unfortunate little thing with the swipe of a talon… But Featherbeak hesitated – his memory worked again for a moment as he considered the vaguely familiar quandary: This creature was poisonous, he knew. But How poisonous, and where?
If the Noctowl could defeat its spines, would he find anything edible under its flesh? The Nidoran's nose twitched and worked, revealing her terror; Featherbeak's spread his wings, preparing to use them to spring – a nagging familiarity tugged at his thoughts, but the Noctowl dismissed it.
"All Pokémon on this mountain are only ever one mistake away from death… And by venturing away from home, you just made the first and last mistake you'll ever make, dear." Featherbeak announced, gravely – the pup began to shiver violently. "…But first, I want to know: You seem familiar. Have we met before?" Featherbeak asked after relaxing only slightly, confident that absolutely nothing could stop him or save the pup from her fate now.
However, the miserable pup finally issued a wordless and utterly miserable sob – a show that made effectively no impact on Featherbeak, who as a hunter was used to such displays from his prey. I suppose she must be too young to talk – just as well, Featherbeak decided, until the pitch of the piteous wails rose sharply.
It might have been an attempt at screech; Featherbeak paused, wincing only slightly at the utterly pathetic attempt… Yet even so he stopped, as the increasingly familiar cry jarred his memory: Wait… I remember now! Featherbeak thought, hesitating. The owl's mind drifted back to the hatchling Nidorina pup he'd found two weeks ago, and he frowned for a moment. "Hey. Enough. I said enough!" He shouted loudly enough that terror choked the pup so tightly its cries in its died throat.
"You can understand me." He observed, hesitating for a moment as he tried to judge the pup's age, "...Can you speak too? Come, answer me." Featherbeak demanded somewhat impatiently. "I-it's not m-my fault I'm alone!" The pup whined, and Featherbeak paused, weighing this response. "Where is your family?" He asked, frowning darkly, thinking back to the den of Rattata he'd left the pup with – no Pokémon her age might have been allowed to leave home on its own normally.
"They kicked me out because I'm too big to fit in our den anymore. I didn't want to leave home!" The pup responded, miserably; Featherbeak frowned deeper. "Were they your real family, or your adopted family?" He asked, clicking his beak in annoyance – if the pup's story was true, then it cast the 'no prey' deal Featherbeak had made with the Rattata into doubt. "I… I don't know. They weren't very friendly; they were purple and white. I look different, so I guess not." She responded.
Featherbeak quietly eased out of his threatening posture to think – the pup hiccuped and sniffled wretchedly, but the old Noctowl hardly paid attention. If they've released her already, then they've released me from my obligation to them too, which means there's better hunting out there than this Nidoran pup. It would be a pointless waste to slay her when she may not even be edible… Featherbeak decided, blowing an annoyed sigh through his nose.
Seeing him visibly slacken his guard, the pup sniffled some more, edging a step back – Featherbeak straightened. "I go to find better hunting now that prey just got a lot more plentiful." Featherbeak announced, glancing upward at the sky – it was now twilight, and the pup seemed to be having an increasingly difficult time seeing him in the dark by the way she blinked and squinted constantly.
" You're getting a second chance most beings don't get: I will allow you to live for now." Featherbeak announced graciously to the pup, "…But remember my words well: This mountain is dangerous, and all it takes is one misstep, one momentary lapse in judgment, to cost you your life. Do not be so careless as to make the same mistakes you did that attracted my attention – other Pokémon may not be as generous as I. Consider this a friendly warning from one Pokémon to another." Featherbeak commanded, thinking of Arbok and other less-kind creatures that prowled the mountain.
The Nidorina rose slightly, encouraged by the owl's words, though she still resembled a pine tree bough with her spines jutting out all over her. "...W-what mistakes?" The pup dared to ask, as Featherbeak prepared to leap into the sky stiffly again – the owl paused, and shot her a dark look that made the pup realize she had foolishly tempted fate yet again by daring to stop the Noctowl from departing. However, Featherbeak paused, again weighing the options: the pup's little scarlet eyes, wide with terror and awash with liquid grief, stared out at him pleadingly.
The vision of dead chicks – motionless and still, victims of terrible cold and even more terrible hunger – flashed with startling clarity in Featherbeak's mind's eye. It had been his last clutch, when he'd grown too old to successfully provide for them in his condition; sensing the end without ever needing to stay, his mate had departed one night and never returned, leaving him with the grim task of watching the last of them cross over to the great beyond one at a time, alone.
The bitter memories welled up, and at first it was Featherbeak's instinct to peck the bothersome little pup's eyes out for good measure… Then, the urge died away as his chicks had – she possessed as wide and innocent little eyes as they did; Featherbeak sighed again, though this time it was with the barest hint of exhaustion.
The bitter memories welled up, and at first it was Featherbeak's instinct to peck the bothersome little pup's eyes out then and there… Then, as his chicks had, the urge slowly died away before Featherbeak, as he considered the pup again, this time without the hungry stare of a predator: She possessed as wide and innocent little eyes as his chicks did, and though it stung Featherbeak's pride to admit it, there was more intelligence in her scarlet orbs than he had seen in more than one of his own brood, live or dead.
What had motivated her to dare stopping him? A workable mix of courage, initiative, awareness, and… Ignorance. Youthful ignorance. Featherbeak decided – to her credit, she did not lower her spines; whether this was a conscious decision or not remained to be seen, but it would have indeed made it considerably more difficult for the old Noctowl to have attacked her without potentially injuring himself.
"Your first mistake was being alone, away from home." He said, adjusting his wings so that they lay flat against his body, at ease. "But I was told to go away. Where am I supposed to go if not back to my den?" The pup asked, miserable. "The home you knew is no longer 'your' den; since you are on your own now, your first priority must make a new one of your very own – somewhere dry during the wet season, warm in the cold season, but hidden and secure all year around. You have precious little time to begin scouting one out – fall is already upon us and you'll freeze without adequate protection from the elements come winter." Featherbeak replied.
The pup rose to sit on her haunches, though she very wisely did not relax her spines – Featherbeak had to suppress a mild surge of amused approval at such prudence. "Where will I find a den then?" The pup asked; her voice trembled only a little – rightly, she was overwhelmed with the truly daunting prospect of the task; Featherbeak nodded absently in approval: this pup was indeed very intelligent.
The old Noctowl realized in that moment that the pup's fault – in attracting his attention – was the fault of the unscrupulous Rattata that had weaned her. The embers of hate began to smolder within Featherbeak; it rankled in his mind that he – a predator – had the decency toward his prey to teach them of survival, than they – fellow prey – did. The Rattata had taught her absolutely nothing of survival as any parent would their offspring, and booted her out at the earliest opportunity; it was not her own fault that she knew nothing of life on the Mountain.
"Hm… I'm sure I don't know, pup." Featherbeak replied absently – his ideal den was the knothole in a tree… But she did not have wings, and he did. "I suppose you might dig one out yourself at the base of a tree, if you can't find one that's been abandoned." Featherbeak suggested, with a roll of his wings – a human gesture, a shrug. "In any case, you would do well to do it soon, but not tonight. Your second and equally fatal mistake was wandering around in the dark." The bird counseled.
"It's clear to me you cannot see in the dark nearly as well as I can, meaning your kind are more than likely active only during the day. You should hole up in your new den at night, keeping a watchful eye out for predators like me, or Ekans, which could sneak into your lair and bite and eat you." Featherbeak explained – the pup shrank a little more, again discouraged by the weight of the task ahead of her. "What's more, I could hear your stomping around through the brush long before I ever saw you. For one as small and relatively defenseless as you, utter silence is the key to survival, at least until you get older and more difficult to eat." Featherbeak added; the pup glanced at her paws and the groud in bewilderment.
"Silence is the key to survival, as is situational awareness. You did not see me until I was already upon you – the inability to see in the dark for creatures like me is another reason you should hide until the sun rises. It's true you still stand as much of a chance being taken by a Arbok in the day, but then the failing is your own for not seeing it coming." Featherbeak said pointedly. The pup glanced around the gathering blackness all around them, uncertainty written in her every breath. Featherbeak silently shook his head pitiably – she had a lot to learn, and precious little time to do it… What's more, it was officially time for him to begin his hunt, now that he would not be making a meal of this pup after all.
"I wish you luck – you'll need it. Keep your wits about you, and you might survive." Featherbeak said, pointedly indicating with his tone that the lessons were over – she was on her own again. Featherbeak drew himself up, casting his eyes to the starry skies above; the pup shifted weight from paw to paw anxiously, glancing around. Without another word, he sprang rheumatically into the skies and flapped off, leaving the hapless pup there at the base of the tree.
The mounting wave of frustration and anger within Featherbeak coincided conveniently with the rumble of hunger within his gullet – the Rattata had violated the spirit of their agreement with him, and had tossed out the innocent pup to the untender mercies of the wild. Very well – two can play at that game… I said I'd spare them for the rest of the 'season', He mused to himself darkly, And the summer heat is technically already giving way to the chill from the upper reaches of the mountain.
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When Featherbeak returned to his tree around midnight, it was with the satisfying weight of a conniving Rattata nestled within his belly; with his mind and body both sated, Featherbeak nearly missed the shadowy pocket that had grown at the base of his tree while he was gone – the startling discovery made him miss a wing beat, resulting in him dipping into a haphazard wing-over dive to recover his momentum. It didn't take but a few short seconds for Featherbeak's keen eyes to spot the dozing figure nestled within the shallow bowl excavated within the crotch of the tree, shielded on two sides by roots; the shock that the pup would have been so foolish as to invade his territory momentarily overrode the surge of territorial agitation that gripped the bird's chest.
To her credit, the pup must have sensed his approach – she began to rouse, but not quickly enough to do her any good, and Featherbeak alighted in front of her, trapping her against the tree. "What do you think you're doing?" Featherbeak asked evenly. Although somewhat annoyed, he no longer hungry – thus, the old Noctowl had far more patience for the antics of the pup now, and truth be told, her actions intrigued him.
However, unable to see his lack of a threatening posture in the dark terrified the pup, and she backed away only a step or two before the trunk of the tree both trapped her and stopped her retreat; again her spines rose – however, Featherbeak had to remind himself the action was probably subconscious, and not the body language of a challenge, to keep his own territorial instincts at bay.
"Sleeping…!" The pup responded, innocently. "...Please don't hurt me. I wasn't doing anything to you." The Nidoran whimpered, taking Featherbeak aback momentarily with her articulate plea; it pleased him that she had the good sense to understand his bothering her now meant she had chosen poorly the site for her new lair. "You were invading the base of my tree." Featherbeak responded, intending to probe her mind a little more – the night was young, and with his belly full, he had time.
"You aren't sleeping in the dirt here with me – this tree is plenty big enough for us to share, and you said I should have begun making my den as quickly as possible." The pup said, shakily; Featherbeak had to suppress an amused chuckle. "You are in my territory." The old Noctowl explained, lazily. "An area I call my own – it extends beyond my tree. Pokemon claim more than just their dens as their territory, and the largest and most dangerous will violently defend their territory from intruders." He explained – mistaking his explanation as the preamble to an assault, the pup again began crying piteously again, fearing for her life.
Though it was true the display awakened the desire to prey upon a weak and hapless victim within Featherbeak, the disciplined bird easily pushed away his hunter's instincts, by reminding himself he was full, and had no taste for wanton slaughter. "I won't eat you unless you keep crying like that. It's hurting my ears." Featherbeak stated – the comment had the desired effect of quieting the pup significantly, and she sniveled in silence for a few moments. Again, she showed no signs of lowering her spines – the elderly Noctowl nodded in approval.
"Then why did you wake me up?" The pup asked after regaining some measure of her composure; Featherbeak paused – why had he bothered with the pup, if not to chase her off? "Don't mistake my not attacking you for a sign that you may stay here; I do prefer my privacy. But, I you are in sorely need of some instruction of the ways of the mountain, since your former custodians didn't see fit to do it themselves." Featherbeak said, belching under his breath and tasting fur. The pup said nothing to this, and so Featherbeak cleared his throat.
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By the time the sun rose hours later, Featherbeak was drained utterly – the inexhaustible store of questions about life and survival that all infant pokemon possessed was dwarfed by the astute follow-up questions the pup posed; her wariness surprised and amused Featherbeak continuously.
The bottomless array of questions had exhausted Featherbeak mentally if not physically – sensing that she had a golden opportunity to learn from someone who was patient if not outright friendly, the pup tried to squeeze as much knowledge out of Featherbeak in one night as some of his own hatchlings had in weeks.
By the time Featherbeak began to punctuate his long-winded explanations with yawns, the pup was fighting to keep her drooping eyelids up and open – she probably suspected that this might be her last chance to speak on friendly terms with the old bird, and willed herself through sheer determination to stay awake and continue learning so long as Featherbeak saw fit not to finally chase her off.
In spite of himself and his painfully bitter memories, Featherbeak soon realized his paternal instincts had come screaming back with full force, begging for the chance to make amends for his last failed clutch of deceased hatchlings – and unlike his instinct to kill the pup, her intelligence made Featherbeak increasingly displeased with himself and his original desire to chase her away.
The little blue Nidoran's once-sparkling scarlet eyes no longer resembled fresh drops of blood glinting in the moonlight – they were dulled with exhaustion, and yet still the pup persisted. "Wha… What will I know to find food when the snowy season starts?" She asked sleepily, stumbling over her words.
"Enough." Featherbeak declared, tired. The sudden change in his tone startled the pup into full wakefulness – her ears flattened against her head, as she realized lessons were finally over. Featherbeak cleared his throat – he was at a crossroads, he knew, because the once-dull instincts to mentor and raise now fully eclipsed his fading desire to tear into the little creature huddled before him.
"You impressed me tonight, pup." Featherbeak finally admitted, at length. "I will not harm you." He reiterated – relief sagged the pup's spines, but only a little; they wavered with the exhaustion of keeping them held up and at the ready for essentially the entire night.
"Rest now. Our lessons will continue with the twilight." He said; a cool detachment flooded the bird – finally coming to terms with his conscious thoughts, the instincts to eat and kill finally faded entirely away: his paternal instincts possessed no desire to harm his – this – hatchling, Featherbeak mentally corrected himself.
The pup let out an audible exhale of relief, but she nearly toddled over with the exhaustion pulling at her sagging muscles – she would not go far in her current condition, and Featherbeak knew it was utter folly to send the pup off in search of a new residence as exhausted and sleepy as she was. "...You may stay here – for today. Sleep. You will need your rest if we are to continue your lessons tonight." Featherbeak announced; at this, the pup fell to her belly in relief. It was all her tired mind needed to finally relax – she began snoring almost immediately.
Quietly, Featherbeak fluttered up to his own den, settling himself down for the day. Sparing a lone thought before allowing his mind to give itself fully to the concerns of a parent, Featherbeak yawned: …When I said I was going to 'take care' of her, I hadn't mean it literally!
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