Chapter 11

Theory

Following his blackout by the Scizor's pincer slash, Squirtle was unaware of Blind Prairie around him for some amount of time. How long, he could not say. He woke to the feel of Quil's little forelimb prodding his arm repeatedly. Squirtle opened his eyes, blinking a few times.

Again, the Prairie was quiet. The Scizor was gone, leaving only Squirtle and Quil. The hues of the sky were beginning to shift toward indigo, promising the moon a dark sky that would accentuate her white brilliance.

Squirtle stood, and groaned from the combination of dizziness and weakness throughout his body. Standing up so quickly was a mistake. How he felt was of course to be expected; he should have known better.

Nonetheless, Squirtle tipped Quil a companionable smile. "Perhaps one day I'll receive the honor of waking you up, instead of the other way around."

"Ha! You've got some catching up to do – I'm as tough as the jaw of a Steelix!" Quil returned. "Even so, we should get out of here. We don't want to fight in this state." Quil looked just as weary as Squirtle felt.

They examined the erstwhile battlefield to figure out where they had come from, then retraced their steps to the path. Squirtle could not help but feel a jolt of disappointment. The path was not something he wanted to see again. They were supposed to succeed, and push all the way through the shortcut. The path was failure, weakness.

"Was it close?" asked Quil, as he lay down from belly to chin.

"The battle? Yes, it was very close! Near the end, our opponent was almost wobbling on its legs. One more Water Gun would have finished it, but it was too fast, and too close to me."

"Krow's luck," cursed Quil. " I hoped it was weak enough for you to finish off. My Ember really, really hurt it. I could tell. It must have been a Bug, Planter, Steel, or Freezer. Those are the Types that are weak to Fire."

"The Pokémon was a Scizor: Bug-Type, I believe. Steel, too, judging by its skin and pincers. They felt and sounded like they were made of metal, at least partially."

"Oh, you recognized the species? I didn't." Quil held a thoughtful silence for a moment. "Wait, how do you know a species that I don't? Is your memory coming back?!"

"No, no. I wish. Scizor is just one of the species I can remember. The name and sometimes other facts come to me when I see a Pokémon. The sight jogs my memory. Not every Pokémon though; I've seen some that I don't quite recognize. And I can't recall any specific memories from my life, as usual."

"You must have lived somewhere that had a Scizor population. There aren't any in Steady Steppe. I'd never seen one before." Quil lifted his head. "Hey, you could figure out where you came from by making a list of all the Pokémon you know about, and finding out what region has those species!"

Squirtle eyes widened. Would that work? Upon initial examination, the idea certainly had merit. Squirtle thought more about it, but soon realized that that strategy would not help him. He knew he had learned about Pokémon from second-hand sources. He had vague recollections of reading about and seeing images of Pokémon, whether in books or...on screens? He'd of course learned about Pokémon by word of mouth, too. Any of those would confound the relationship between knowing about a Pokémon and that Pokémon living nearby.

"Great idea," said Squirtle, "but I have the sense that I learned about Pokémon from sources that weren't first-hand. I can't pin down where I lived, since I know Pokémon from all over."

"Aw, really? That's a shame," Quil said. "We'll figure it out, I hope. Somehow, somewhere."

Squirtle gave a small smile, though he felt glum after the surge of hope had faded.

"Onto sunnier topics," said Quil. "Your plan worked perfectly, Squirtle! Every step happened just as you planned."

"That's true, I had forgotten! I loved that the Scizor couldn't strike you as it landed, since you were passing underneath it. That was superb." His voice exuded satisfaction and pride, but Squirtle did not care to hide the emotions. This was a time to celebrate their success. Quil smiled and nodded vigorously in agreement.

I'm improving at performing my attacks, too, thought Squirtle with delight. Granted, battling is often frightening or surprising enough to make me freeze up, but when I don't think and simply let myself go, I can't feel the fear as much. Once I know what the best plan of action is, I can let the moves that this body knows flow, almost unconsciously.

The welcome feeling of a new idea blossomed in his mind. That's it. That's how I can settle the issue of whether I should hold onto my past, and my rational thinking, or if I should act based on the impulses and emotions of this Pokémon body. I'll try to think clearly and use logic when I have to strategize, command, or prepare to enact a strategy. Then I'll release that thinking when I have to actually use my moves.

Not a complete solution, but it'll work for battling at least.

"If that Scizor were the tiniest bit weaker, I think we could have won," Quil was saying. "We should keep using that strategy, as strange as it feels to say that."

Squirtle nodded. "I agree. I'll try to keep the ideas coming too, assuming I'm lucky enough to think up some more. By the way, your Ember technique looked quite sharp to me. I wouldn't hesitate to use it as much as you can, if I were you."

Quil huddled up tighter and partially hid his face. "Thanks. I'm just happy we're improving. It's nice."

Why was Quil embarrassed about his Ember? Silly Cyndaquil. Squirtle was fortunate that he was traveling with a good-hearted Pokémon, regardless of battling skill level.

"There's one thing I don't understand though," said Quil. "The two Pokémon we encountered were way more capable fighters than us. Since all Pokémon in an area tend to have roughly the same amount of fighting competence, it's reasonable to assume that if we ran into more 'mon, we would have been stomped again."

"What's your point?" asked Squirtle, ever so slightly miffed at the reminder of their failures.

"Why did my father tell me I could use this shortcut? Why even mention it at all? He would have known that that I wouldn't be able to make it through." He huffed. "Especially not alone. My dad didn't anticipate me traveling with someone else."

Squirtle thought about it, but could uncover no reason. Quil was right. These Pokémon were relatively powerful, so Quil would have had a minimal chance of success on his own. Attempting to take the shortcut would likely result in failure, so there would be no point in Quil's father informing him about it.

"I don't know your father, so I don't know why he would do that. I can't figure it out."

"It's strange," said Quil. "The directions he's given me up until now have been perfect. The going was tough, but I did it. This shortcut though, this wasn't even possible."

"We'll want to forgo any battles and stick to the path for the rest of Blind Prairie then, won't we?" asked Squirtle.

If we can't take a shortcut, that means we'll pass near Blindhollow and maybe find a Pokémon that can help me, thought Squirtle with guilty pleasure.

"Yeah, unless you want to walk into a battle knowing you're going to lose. Don't you worry Squirtle, this journey will see plenty of battling. We'll have more opportunities to improve our moves than there are Caterpie in a forest." Quil said with an enthusiasm that sounded forced. Evidently his feelings about the journey he had to make were not changed by their minor battling success.

A companionable quiet settled over their little segment of the path. Squirtle focused on relaxing to regain his energy, but could not stop his mind from wandering, as usual. He visually inspected his body for the cuts and bruises of the previous battle. Remarkably, the portions of skin that he could see were whole, unblemished, and healthy. His shell, from what he could feel and see, was likewise unmarked. Squirtle ran his hands over his round face, touching gingerly the places he knew the Scizor's pincers had cut him. He found nothing but a mild tenderness to the area. Despite the sensation of being cut, the skin was not broken.

If one word was chosen to describe Pokémon in general, then 'durable' could easily be that word.

This time, more than a half hour passed before Squirtle had made a decent recovery. Whether that was due to a more severe defeat or because this was the second battle in a short time, Squirtle could only guess. Recovering from a battle was not something he was practiced at. Quil, naturally, looked accustomed to the process, and seemed to recover his strength a bit more rapidly than Squirtle.

Quil gazed outward to the sun nearing the horizon, and explained that he typically went to sleep at sunset, or shortly thereafter. Squirtle raised no objections. There was light left to travel down the path for a few minutes longer, but then Quil asked if Squirtle was fine stopping where they were for the night. The actual sunset was not visible, thanks to the height of the grasses, but the rapidly descending darkness was proof enough.

"Sure," said Squirtle. "The landscape hasn't changed all day, so I doubt we're going to stumble upon a great place to sleep."

He quickly banished all the frightening images that his mind produced when he thought of sleeping outside in the wilderness, far from any safe place. He'd decided that morning to give this life his best shot, so he'd be betraying himself by not living as traveling Pokémon did. Besides, he had nothing to steal, and he knew with certainty how resilient his form was to any attack.

When I'm analyzing battles, figuring out plans, pondering my past, I can hold onto who and what I was. Otherwise, I'm embracing this life. No looking back. Squirtle hoped his determination would last through whatever trials he might face. Another breakdown over his inner conflicts, like the one outside of Karprest's lodge, was unacceptable.

The previous day, Squirtle would not have agreed so casually to sleeping on the dirt path through some prairie. Now he had the knowledge, confidence, and determination to do so. He was a Pokémon now.

Mostly.

Quil pushed a few paces into the brush, then flattened some of the smaller blades of grass to clear a cozy space to curl up in. Squirtle followed suit, then lay on his belly next to Quil. Apparently, Quil did not usually extinguish his flames when he went to sleep. Both their orange glow and their warmth only extended a couple of feet away from his small body, so Squirtle scooted himself within that radius. Although it was not necessary, the warmth was nice. Squirtle knew fire in general could not do him much harm, so both parts of him were not afraid of his proximity to the flames.

As night fell, the sounds of the Pokémon in Blind Prairie that Squirtle and Quil had been hearing transitioned to new sounds made by nocturnal Pokémon. A chirping noise pervaded, and infrequently there was a strange clicking in the air. Squirtle focused on his and Quil's soft breathing to shut out the sounds.

"Tomorrow will be a full day of hiking. I hope it's easy, with no issues," said Quil.

"Mm. Me too. A run-in with another Espeon would be fantastic though. One that's much less experienced at battling."

Quil chuckled. "You never know. Maybe some snags as we travel wouldn't be too bad. I like this place. The grasses remind me of home." He yawned, saying, "I feel more tired already."

"See you tomorrow then," said Squirtle.

"Yeah. Good night."

Squirtle, too, was weary from the day's activities. He gave some more thought to a couple of the questions and conflicts he'd pondered during the day, but soon his sleepiness caught up to him. He allowed it to sweep him away.

Squirtle's dreams were of battling. They were half-remembered things, just images of the Scizor's impassive face, or the grass whirling around him as he was knocked away by some move. Emotion was what stuck with him the most. The thrill, the fear, the triumph, the disappointment. The thrill lingered most.

When Squirtle awoke, he feared his eyes were failing him. The world was dark, save for a horizontal oval of dim yellow-green light. His field of view was significantly reduced.

Wait. This has happened to me before. In the canyon, I think. Yes. Yes, I was...Oh!

Squirtle released the tension he felt at the core of his body. His arms, legs, tail, and head popped out of their respective entrances into his shell. They'd been compressed within his shell as he slept, so it felt marvelous to let them extend back outward into the world. He stretched his arms up and back, stretched his legs straight and lifted onto his tiptoes, and even stretched his tail by straightening it outward behind him. He stretched his neck, hidden within his shell, by rotating his head in every direction he could.

Last night, he was sure he'd fallen asleep on his belly with his head and all limbs out of his shell. Yet by the relief of stretching, he knew he'd been inside his shell all night. That meant only one thing.

I unconsciously withdrew into my shell. That didn't happen at Bein's, that first night. So I must be somehow allowing the natural inclinations of this body to express themselves more easily.

Before sleeping, he had told himself he was going to embrace his new life as a Squirtle. That line of thinking must have relaxed whatever reservations he'd had about accepting his status as a Squirtle. Also, yesterday he'd had two intense battles. That too could have loosened him up.

Eh, I guess this is a good sign. If I want to thrive as a Squirtle, I've got to behave more like a Squirtle. Sleeping like one is part of the package.

True to Quil's word about overnight recoveries, the mild aches and weariness from the previous day's battles had all but vanished. He was feeling one hundred percent, and ready to continue onward. The growing light and lively sounds of the morning beckoned.

Quil was still sleeping, his fire burning strong. Squirtle couldn't resist a brief grin: finally, he was the first one awake. Stepping next to Quil, he nudged his side a few times with a foot.

"Come on Quil, we've got that 'full day of hiking' to do. Up and at 'em!"

"What does that even mean," Quil grumbled as he shifted around until the flames of his back were positioned where Squirtle was nudging him.

"Hey, that's cheating!" exclaimed Squirtle, as he hastily withdrew his foot.

Quil chuckled. "Almost got you." Nevertheless, he soon stretched and stood.

Together, they pushed back out onto the path, and began anew their journey. Squirtle was momentarily amazed at how swiftly they'd set out once more. With no need for packing up supplies or breaking up a camp, the time taken between waking up and moving out passed in the blink of an eye. Squirtle had woken up two minutes earlier, and now he was on his way toward their next destination. Incredible.

For breakfast, Quil asked Squirtle to help him find another Diglett's Stash as they walked. Not only did they each find one of the edible roots within ten minutes, but Quil also managed to procure a stocky green plant that he said was 'a great find'. By squeezing the stem near the roots, Quil spread some of the milky orange fluid that seeped out onto each of their Diglett's Stash. The topping was tasty, with an almost spicy zing. All told, the breakfast was of course rustic, but Squirtle did not mind. The tastes were new to him.

The morning was, quite predictably, spent walking. Quil and Squirtle avoided all rustling in the grasses and Pokémon noises in order to keep the journey smooth. Despite Quil's declared nostalgic enjoyment of the Prairie, and Squirtle's ambition to become a tougher fighter, they pushed through the Prairie as steadily as possible. Quil wanted to reach his final destination, the volcano, as soon as he could, and Squirtle let Quil set the pace. It was Quil's Pilgrimage, not Squirtle's.

Other paths split off from or connected to the path which they traveled, though none was as wide. Squirtle wondered why they had not encountered other travelers, but chalked it up to an incompatibility with the Pokémon lifestyle. Pokémon were likely more interested in staying where they knew they could thrive, in a climate and habitat suited for them. He made another connection too, related to the upheaval of recent events, but he pushed it away before it fully formed.

Around noon, following another impromptu meal, the pair spotted some Pelipper flapping through the skies. These were different than other Flying-type Pokémon they had seen in the wild, since these were carrying a large woven bag. Three Pelipper in total were gripping the bag with their blue webbed feet. In addition to that load, it seemed they were each carrying cargo in their voluminous bills, since every bill was practically bulging from something within. The Pelipper paid the traveling pair no heed, continuing their straight course in a southwest direction. Squirtle wished he could tell what they were carrying.

"I heard that Pelipper are the Pokémon of choice for delivering mail and supplies," explained Quil. "That must be what those ones are doing."

"If they're acting as couriers and cargo transporters, they must be traveling between Pokémon settlements, right?" asked Squirtle.

"Probably," agreed Quil.

"I hope they don't get harried by wild Pokémon on the way, since they're doing such a service," Squirtle said.

"Me too. I'm not sure we should worry, though; they can probably take care of themselves if they're doing this job with such a big load. There are three of them, too."

"True. Unless they run into just the wrong opponent." Squirtle scrutinized the Pelipper, trying to recall information about them. "I think they're Water and Flying-type, so if they ran into, say, an Electric-" He cut himself off, not wanting to finish that sentence.

Quil said nothing more either. Now the walk was uncomfortably quiet.

Finally, Squirtle spoke again to break the silence. "We've been avoiding talking about it, Quil, but we have to sooner or later. Before we arrive at Cavetown would be best."

"Yeah. We have avoided it. For good reason. It's unnatural, and it's horrible," Quil muttered.

Even Squirtle could feel inside that Quil was correct. It was unnatural in a freakish and repulsive way. Talking about it only made it more grotesque, and more real, but it had to be done. Squirtle could not resist talking through a problem for long.

"You're certainly right; I can tell that it's wrong, too. Unfortunately it's somehow become reality."

Quil looked to him with his eye-wrinkles. "Do you have any idea why Stolt and that Elekid were so ridiculously powerful?"

Squirtle shook his head. "I was hoping you could tell me. Nothing like this has ever happened before? One particular Type becoming mysteriously potent?"

Quil drew in a breath sharply in surprise. "What? You think the entire Electric Type is more powerful? No...no, that would be insane. It's impossible, anyway."

Squirtle hesitated to disagree, seeing as he had no concrete evidence that the phenomenon was as pervasive as he thought. Hopefully with Quil's perspective they could come to a more solid conclusion.

"The thunderstorm. Everyone agrees that the thunderstorm was unprecedented. The storm was singularly intense, and brought no rainfall which is unusual for this temperate climate. Plus, there were frequent lightning strikes while it lasted. Lots of lightning, but no water, as if it were a lightning storm in the most literal sense of the words. The storm-clouds covered the entire sky; every visible inch of it was affected by the storm. That leads me to think that the storm did this to every Electric-type. Or maybe every Electric move."

"Every Electric-type?" repeated Quil. "In the entire world?"

Squirtle wished he could make some equivalent of a shrug. "I don't know. All I know is that the extent of the storm was huge. Thanks to my memory loss, I don't know how big the world is, or where we would be on a map, so I can't say how large an area would be covered."

"I don't know geography either, except the places around Steady Steppe." Quil adopted a skeptical tone of voice. "Don't you think your theory is a bit, well, extreme? A storm that increases the intensity of Electric techniques? No offense, Squirtle, but I'm not sure I can fully believe that."

"I don't believe it myself, either. It's just a theory. I'm trying to make connections, and that's the most obvious one right now. Nothing I can think of might cause a change in Electric capabilities except for the storm, and that storm spread far, far beyond Karprest. Therefore I think it prudent for us to operate under the assumption that every Electric we encounter will have the same level of Electric power that we saw in the Elekid." He swallowed the fear he felt at reliving the previous morning's terrors. "And in Stolt."

"Every Electric. Every Electric. That's crazy. It's impossible." Quil was repeating himself. Squirtle frowned, concerned.

"If it's any consolation, any Electric we fight will probably go for me first since I'm obviously a...what's the word? A Wet? Not that I'm excited about the prospect."

"If this phenomenon is actually affecting the entire world, or even a large area, that would change everything," said Quil in a disbelieving tone, evidently lost in his thoughts. "The whole dynamic of battling would be thrown away. There would be no balance among the Types, no way to oppose an Electric user. If one of those bolts hits you, but you were a resistant Type, I bet you'd still be knocked senseless. We saw for ourselves how ludicrous those bolts were. The Karprest dock exploded because of a single bolt from an Elekid. I could feel the blast when I jumped."

"Aren't Ground-type Pokémon totally immune to Electric attacks?" asked Squirtle.

Quil nodded. "At least, they were. I hope they still are, because if they aren't, then no Pokémon would be able to defeat a Zapper that used all its advantages correctly."

"I would think being merely resistant to electricity is of no help because of the sheer power of electricity now, but Ground-types should still be immune. That could just be positive thinking. We just don't know enough right now, in the middle of this prairie."

"Maybe it wore off," suggested Quil. "Maybe it only happened yesterday, because that's when the storm was. Or maybe it was at its peak during the storm, but it's slowly dying away as time passes."

"Maybe," said Squirtle noncommittally. The phenomenon fading away seemed doubtful to him.

There was another piece of the puzzle that Squirtle did not intend on mentioning to Quil. His personal involvement. He had woken up right in the middle of the storm. If there was one place that was the most severely affected, it was Root Forest. The storm coincided with his awakening, with his memory loss, with his new life, as he called it. Squirtle believed himself to be the type to not accept coincidences, but to pry at them until a reason was revealed. The events were linked. They had to be. They gave his life meaning, a greater purpose. He was part of a mystery that had to be solved, one of grave importance. This storm had massive consequences for the future of everywhere it had affected. His reasoning told him that the effects of the storm would not blow over, as the storm itself had.

Telling Quil would probably make him only more skeptical of his frightening theory, and also Squirtle did not want to inflate his importance in Quil's eyes. Squirtle was merely along for the journey. He wasn't about to proclaim his supposed core role in solving the Electric mystery.

"What could have caused that storm?" Quil asked quietly. "Since it was so abnormal, it must have been triggered by something, right? Or maybe some 'mon."

"Could it have been one of those super rare, hyper-powerful Pokémon? They're called Legendaries, right?"

Quil burst into laughter. Squirtle looked away and felt a telling warmth rise up to his face. How was he going to have his erroneous perspective corrected this time around?

A few seconds passed before Quil could regain control of himself. "Oh, wow, I'm sorry. I really am. I know that you lost your memory, it's just-" His voice rose in pitch and shattered due to another torrent of helpless giggles.

Squirtle sighed. "Please, keep laughing. This isn't a serious matter at all."

Quil quieted more quickly this time. "I apologize. I can explain. Legendary Pokémon exist only in stories or myths. That's why they're called Legendary; they're only found in legends. So when you said that so seriously, it was really funny to me. Everyone knows, er, that is, most Pokémon are told stories when they're growing up, or they hear about them from other 'mon, but we all know they're not real. It's fun to pretend they are though, to explain where emotion, knowledge, and willpower come from, or to imagine if you could have your wishes granted."

"If anything could prove that a Legendary was real, this storm would be that paradigm shift," argued Squirtle.

Quil smiled in that way of his. "I would love it if a Legendary showed up one day, I really would. That would be amazing and cool and really interesting. Unfortunately, I think that I'm more likely to evolve into a Venusaur than a Legendary be proven to exist. Any 'mon you talk to would say the same thing. Except an Ivysaur, I guess."

"Hm. Well, regardless of the storm's origin, its effects were present and real yesterday, and will probably persist for the foreseeable future as well," declared Squirtle.

"The more I think about it," said Quil after a moment, "the more I realize how significant the situation is. If you're right, Squirtle, than this will change more than just battling. If there are more power-hungry maniacs out there like Stolt, then they might force their fellow Pokémon to accept them as their leader, or bully 'mon around in other ways. When electricity can't be beaten, then eventually, 'mon will have no choice but to accept that they'll always be weaker."

At that, Squirtle felt a note of righteous anger color his mood of general uncertainty and apprehension. How dare Pokémon like Stolt abuse their Type advantage to usurp power, to take control of an entire town? The situation was not at all fair. It was selfish, and a backward way of deciding who would lead.

"You're right, and it makes me angry. This has the potential to change battling, leadership, organization, life in the wilderness, life in settlements – practically everything I can think of involving Pokémon will be affected directly or indirectly by this imbalance. Unless you're an Electric-type, or maybe unless you can use Electric moves, then life will be taking a negative turn for you."

"That's not right," agreed Quil. "Urgh, if you're correct with your theory, then this really is horrible."

"What will we encounter ahead?" Squirtle mused.

Now I wish I had been transformed into a Dugtrio, or an Excadrill. Those are Ground-type, if I'm not mistaken.

As the afternoon passed, and the pair continued their steady hike through the featureless Prairie, Squirtle began to feel fidgety. Every hour was just like the last. The journey got to the point where a moderate twist or turn in the path was a highlight that made that hour stand out. Even their meals were repetitive, due to the low plant diversity in the area.

Squirtle yearned for a battle. Sure, it might be scary, and sure, they would almost certainly end up unconscious or close to it, but anything was better than the endless hike. And just picturing the Espeon's contemptuous face was enough to set Squirtle's blood to a boil. He would become no stronger by walking peaceably through the Prairie while worthy foes lived seconds away.

"I know you don't want to prolong your journey," began Squirtle, "but do you want to break up this segment with a battle or two?"

"Yeah, alright. We're taking the long route anyways, so some small delays aren't terrible."

Squirtle reckoned he was not the only one affected by boredom and restlessness.

Quil sprawled onto the path, Squirtle not far behind him. The sun was near the horizon, hidden by the grasses, and the sky was darkening. Together they rested and caught their breath. The air grew slightly chilly, but as usual it was no bother to Squirtle.

"Is it okay if we just sleep right there for the night?" Quil pointed a forelimb off to the side of the path. Squirtle nodded tiredly.

Their first battle had been against an Arbok, which Squirtle had found especially intimidating because of its imposing height and daunting hood pattern. They had been once again outmatched. The Arbok had swiftly wrapped itself around Quil and squeezed until the fight went out of him, even while it struck a pair of nasty bites at Squirtle. The pair had had no opportunity to use Squirtle's strategy. Instead, Squirtle had shouted encouragement to Quil as he was squeezed, though it had not helped. They had wearily fled the fight after the Arbok had wore them down without suffering a single technique from the pair.

Squirtle had felt the fangs pierce his skin, but the punctures must have healed rapidly, as little evidence of the attacks remained after the battle. Maybe that rapid healing was the source of the now-familiar spreading weakness and weariness that followed each time he took a hit in battle. He theorized that no permanent damage was ever inflicted, because a Pokémon's body instantly mended the damage at the cost of its strength becoming sapped.

Following a short rest and another length of walking, they had encountered a Linoone darting across the path. Naturally, it had stopped, turned, and began an offensive. Squirtle had done his best to think up battle advantages that he or Quil could use, and had verbalized one of them in as short of a sentence as he could. The relentless Linoone's headbutts had been too powerful, however, and Squirtle had been nearly knocked out before anything positive could come of his idea. Quil too had had his fill of headbutts all too soon, and the Linoone had earned its victory. The pair had stumbled away, back to the path.

Squirtle had consoled himself by saying the effort was what caused improvement, not the victory. Switching mindsets in order to execute his techniques properly but also allow time for unclouded thought was becoming easier for him, too.

The full day of hiking along with a couple of battles promised Squirtle an easy descent into slumber. After saying "Good night" to Quil, who seemed approximately as tired, Squirtle gladly fell asleep.

The next morning, Quil must have woken up first, because Squirtle awoke to a knocking on his shell. The sound was at once a booming echo, like a water drop falling from a cavern stalactite into a pool, and a sourceless thump that Squirtle felt through his entire body. Squirtle found it difficult to compare the sensation to something else, probably because there was nothing comparable to being tucked inside a shell that was also a part of his body.

In any case, the sound, or perhaps the feeling, woke Squirtle right up. He languidly emerged from his shell and stretched with a small yawn.

Quil greeted him. "Good morning! You didn't sleep in your shell that night at Bein's. Were you extra tired last night or something?"

"Er, maybe. Sometimes it's a shell night, sometimes it's not." Squirtle racked his brains for an appropriate topic change, but failed on account of the morning's slight grogginess. "It's a Squirtle thing," he said lamely.

Quil chuckled. "If you say so! Want to press onward?"

Mid-morning, the pair came to a major merge in the road. Their path led into another, which looked slightly more used than theirs, with a greater width and shorter grass bed poking out of the dirt. The earth of the new path even featured slight cracking in places, as if the footsteps of a thousand Pokémon had chipped into the earth's once pristine skin. The words unsaid, Quil and Squirtle halted at the juncture.

So far they'd traveled almost directly east through Blind Prairie. According to Quil's directions, a shortcut through the grass northeast would have taken them to Cavetown more quickly. This new path seemed to run approximately northwest to southeast. Squirtle concluded that turning left at the junction would bring them to Cavetown, and right would take them to to Blindhollow.

"Since the shortcut didn't help us," said Quil, "we could go to Blindhollow if we wanted. I bet it's only a short distance that way." He pointed his snout right, in the southeast direction.

"Or we could go that way and get to Cavetown more quickly." He looked to the northwest, the way that would take them to where the shortcut through the tall grasses would have dumped them.

"It's your decision, as always," said Squirtle, though some part of him nagged at his attention, urging him to suggest hitting an additional population center instead of proceeding directly to Cavetown.

Quil was silent for a moment, likely considering the choice one final time. In the stillness, new noises became apparent other than the light breeze and wild Pokémon calls and cries. A voice. No, multiple voices. A conversation. And then a variety of motion and footfall sounds as the Pokémon approached.

From the path leading to Blindhollow, an assortment of Pokémon was heading their way. The one in the lead was a Pokémon that Squirtle had never seen before. Their eyes met. Squirtle felt Quil tense beside him.