The Sharp Claw Pokémon rubbed her leg, easing enough pain to pick herself off the ground and slowly approached the edge of the cliff. There were large strips of shredded fabric and a bright red splotch where Jack was mauled. Going back a little bit showed red streaks in the snow, and then a sudden smear as both the hunter and the Ursaring slid down the side of the cliff, knocking down large clumps of snow with them in a miniature avalanche. Cleo peered over the edge, silent and awestruck at the scene below.
Jack's body was well hidden underneath the bronze body of the Ursaring, covered in a scattered layer of snow from the slope. She could make out a few darkened, crimson spots against the bronze fur from where the Hibernator Pokémon got shot. There was a larger one on the top of its head, blood slowly trailing out of the hole and down its face. No movement whatsoever came from below. Just a minute ago, the huntress saw the human companion hopelessly get torn apart from the Hibernator Pokémon. Now it and Jack slide down an icy slope, giving an eerie silence in the frozen wilderness deep in the north of Unova.
"[He couldn't have died. No, he couldn't have. No, impossible, no. No…!]"
The silence was broken when the Teddiursa cubs mewled behind Cleo and came to investigate what happened to her. They were perched on top of the cave, able to see the human and the mother Ursaring at the bottom of the slope. Little paws covered little mouths as the Little Bear Pokémon gazed down below at the gruesome scene before them. They naïvely mewled at the still mother Pokémon, not knowing what really happened.
["Mommy? Are you okay?"]
["Why are you down there?"]
["Why is she not moving? And what was that sound?"]
["Maybe she just fell asleep."]
The Weavile craned her neck at the Teddiursa cubs. They took turns looking back at Cleo, shuddering at the nasty monster that was chasing them earlier. One dared to speak out to the Weavile,
["Do you know why our mommy is down there?"]
Cleo was furious at the cubs and what their mother did to her friend. They would not last long alone as orphans; they were not made for being independent and surviving away from parents or other caretakers compared to her. And that fact brought her slight, sick satisfaction at knowing that there will be other Pokémon that will have to deal with the hard-knock life she was given. On top of it, that there would be four less Ursaring in the world to challenge her or anything she held close, further feeding the superiority complex she hung onto even tighter after meeting the human. She lowered her head and gave a stern, frightening growl at the Teddiursa cubs while choking back tears and sniffles.
["See that down there?"]
The Teddiursa were more confused than afraid of the Weavile.
["But why is she down there and sleeping? Mommy, wake up. Mommy, please wake up!"]
Cleo got up and held back her tears and temper, lurching towards the Teddiursa with a sharp digit pointing at the gruesome scene below.
"That is what it looks like to lose. That's what it is like being condemned. And you're gonna feel it real hard, real soon for you and your mother being such stupid, pathetic, inferior creatures."
Cleo could've given in to her instincts and eviscerated the Teddiursa cubs right then and there. But she didn't; they deserved a slow death from starvation or being preyed upon by a dozen other hungry Pokémon. All she could think about was Jack. The Weavile rejected anything hunch that Jack was dead. Jack was one the very few she met that was hospitable to her, and the only one that truly felt like a friend to her. He fed her, he played with her, and kept her clean. He saved her life when she was terribly ill and collapsed in the frozen wild, exposed to the elements. Collapsed and alone, leaving a visible trail for any hungry Pokémon to follow and rip her apart for being left for dead.
Him, dead? No, that could not be it. She hoped and prayed from the bottom of her heart that she was right. The Weavile peered over the edge again and ignored the Teddiursa, sobbing and wiping her face.
["They were wrong about what they said. You proved that to me. Thank you."]
She clenched her hands so terribly tight from stress that they drew blood from digging into her palms. There was always the chance that he would be alive; he had to be still alive, he had to. The Weavile stood up and looked to her right, the path they came from. Her view panned down to the pair of footprints she and Jack made on the hike. They could only lead back to one place where Jack could survive in the end.
She got the grandest idea she ever had, and she would've bet her life that it would work.
["But this… I can't accept this. No… I won't accept this! Please just hang on, Jack!"]
The Sharp Claw Pokémon ran as fast and as hard as she could to retrace the steps she and Jack made on the way to get here. It was time to return the favor.
Back at the cabin was Wilson Hotchkiss sitting at the dinner table with his signature Winchester 1897 shotgun. The hermit was cleaning it with a damp cloth, stroking the barrel up and down in every which way possible. He looked back at the gun cabinet housing so many of the guns he collected and stored, half of them never even had a single shot put through them. Then Wilson looked up at the cabin's beams, seeing all of the trophies of Pokémon he shot and brought to the taxidermist. Finally he looked at the one his grandson killed and recovered. He sighed and put his feet up on the table, talking to himself.
"That boy, using a Weavile of all things to hunt other Pokémon. What a wild boy he is, coming out here and hunting wild Pokémon with wild Pokémon. And yet, he nearly got himself lost in a blizzard when he went with that damn thing. It got him his trophy I guess, but, damn things always do more harm than good here. If I were out there with him that time, I wouldn't have gotten lost. Ugh, I know I should've gone with him, my fault for getting him wrapped up in this. What was I thinking letting him run off with that damn Pokémon? I know everything in a twenty-mile radius of this land. The boy doesn't, and he sure as hell can't speak the same language as that thing, cunning as it may be. I wonder where he is now? He should be coming back soon, and maybe he shot another Stantler or Sawsbuck. Should be returning from the same route he took…"
Wilson got up and stared out the window of his cabin, looking off at the patch of woods Jack and Cleo took for their third expedition. There was something amiss outside and seemed to be approaching the cabin, getting bigger as it came closer to view. The hermit squinted and saw a distinct dark object sprinting along the same path his grandson took. His face was pressed closer against the glass, gasping at getting a better view of what it was.
Cleo was desperately racing back to Wilson's cabin, faster and harder than she did when the Ursaring was chasing her. There would hopefully be that one fat human almost always inside the cabin. If she could just get to him and make him follow her, the wounded hunter may have a chance at survival. The Weavile fully ignored any soreness left in her leg and sped across the white landscape, heading right to the cabin door. When she arrived, she howled emphatically at the door, pounding and scratching on it to get Wilson's attention.
"[Open it! Please open it! Please I need your help!]"
Wilson bolted to the shotgun shells and loaded his gun up with four rounds after recognizing Cleo sprinting towards the cabin. Jack was not with her, and she never came to the cabin this fast, setting off every alarm in his head. Luckily for him, he was already in his hunting apparel, so he wasted no further time in answering the door.
Wilson Hotchkiss threw open the door, revealing a desperate Weavile at his doorstep. She looked up and madly cried at the burly outdoorsman in her native tongue with small tears glistening in her eyes.
"You!" Wilson called to Cleo, "Why are you here? Where the hell is Jack?"
"[Please come quickly! Jack is in trouble! Please follow me; we don't have much time!]" the Weavile beseeched in her native tongue. She backed up and motioned the hunter to follow her into the forest. Wilson knew something was totally wrong; why else would Jack have not have returned with the Weavile? There was only one way to find out as Wilson gripped his shotgun and braced it against his chest, following the Weavile.
The new pair followed in Jack's footsteps the same manner as when Cleo first set off with him. Into the cover of dead, glazed trees they went, entering the wild winter lands.
"Where is Jack? How far did he go?" called Wilson, getting no reply from the Weavile. Partway through the mad dash back to Jack, Wilson noticed odd Pokémon tracks in the snow that coincided perfectly with the route Cleo was leading him. It didn't take much for the grizzled outdoorsman to know that they were the tracks of a mother Ursaring with its Teddiursa cubs. The fact they coincided exactly with the same route Jack took that Wilson was following made his stomach churn. Wilson did not want to think about it too hard, for he got a good guess of what happened to his grandson.
"Jack… please tell me you're all right!"
How many wounds littered his body? He did not know. He hurt all over like he was thrown into a meat grinder. His entire head was sticky and dirty from blood running down a bloody slash on the side of his head, complete with a thick flab of muscle almost entirely peeled back from bone mixing with the snow. Numerous wounds of varying depth and size were strewn across his torso; each one was an opening for more blood to seep through and stain his clothes, skin, and ice underneath. They stung and ached all over from his flesh being torn. He felt fractured bones in his right hand complete with nasty lacerations, hardly able to feel it. The legs also had a fair share of wounds. It was hard to feel them, and he couldn't move any part of his body from the neck down. There was a winter coat on him, but it hardly did any good as there were even larger lacerations on it, exposing the carvings on his actual body. More numbing, relentless air and frost slipped inside his body.
There was something on top of him. Something big, heavy, and furry. It covered most of his body, mopping up excess blood that leaked through his torn coat and helping to keep him warm. It was almost like a thick winter blanket, extremely thick and difficult to move off him even if he had full control of his body. Everything was still, quiet, and somehow peaceful. What happened a minute before? He was being attacked from an Ursaring and he was just trying to defend himself. Next thing he recalls was the slope he and it tumbled down hard, plummeting who knows how many feet.
That's right. The Ursaring and the slope. He blew its brains out with the last round of his grandfather's revolver at the exact moment he and the Ursaring fell down the slope. Its lifeless body landed on top of his, giving him warmth and shelter at the cost of being even harder to draw breath from having a burly and unmoving Pokémon on him. The Ursaring was on top of him, but as dead as it could be. A magnum bullet plowed through its brain, and others punched through miscellaneous organs. There was no doubt that it happened, and no doubt that the Ursaring was deceased. Jack strained his neck up to look at the dead face of the mother Ursaring. Its eyes were closed, a snapshot of anger and pain.
The Hibernator Pokémon's mouth was open and stained sangre with periodic drops of blood and saliva dripping from its lower jaw and tongue. Dark red trickles of blood ran down its head from the bullet exiting its skull. No way could it survive that in addition to all the other gunshot wounds he gave it, which were making a few place on his body wetter than the rest. Speaking of, Jack didn't feel anything metallic or sturdy in his hands. The gun must've been knocked clean away from him as during the descent. Now he was totally disarmed.
Jack Hotchkiss stared up at the sky. Wasn't it clear not long ago? And now there are black clouds moving in, large enough to swallow up the sun. It seemed like snow clouds and precipitation were on their way, as usual. Earlier, the heavens were not as dark. Such things indicate the passage of time. How long did it take for this whole incident to play out? Seconds seemed like minutes and minutes seemed like hours of endless tedium. What about the Weavile? Where was she? She was the one that led him here to begin with, yet she was the one that saved his life before. What was its name, the name of the one that led him in and out of conflict since they met?
Off in the distance were concerned, sad whimpers of the Ursaring's cubs. They slowly worked their way down to get closer to their passed mother, investigating what happened. They did not fully figure out the Weavile's words, nor did they understand what happened to their mother and its cruel implications. They wandered closer on their cold limbs, terrified at seeing their mother not moving a muscle on top of the foreign invader.
They began to climb on top of their mother's body, poking and prodding to wake her up to no avail. Jack muffled his breathing and remained just as motionless underneath the warm body. The Teddiursa were ultimately harmless, but did not want to know he was there and make them aware of his presence. Slowing down his breathing and not moving even his neck helped to conserve energy, and he needed every last ounce of life to make it. All the human could do was sit and stare at the darkening, hazy sky.
He was afraid. It was okay for him to be afraid. His Weavile companion was nowhere to be seen or heard, he was helplessly pinned underneath the dead Ursaring, and was bleeding out in the snow in the face of an imminent snowstorm, all alone from any friends or relatives. Thoughts of dying slipped into his mind. Would Wilson forget? Did the Weavile forget and abandon him? Would anybody remember him?
Suddenly, he did not hurt as much anymore. He reasoned it would be like sleeping. The bloody, torn up body was getting numb. And he felt… warmer? Was it a placebo effect from his body to control itself? Was he really knocking on death's door? Just a second ago he was in chilling agony, and now he was getting warmer? Each passing second made him drowsier than before. Drowsy…drowsy…drowsy. His head tilted off to the left, making his vision darker and, not because of the clouds. His overall senses waned. If he had to die, this was not so bad, he reasoned. All the pain started to vanish to make room for peaceful passing. It would feel like a comfortable, warm sleep during a bitter winter night. And now… was something getting brighter out of nowhere? Was that thing always there?
A light? Was it getting closer and brighter, and should it? The human was where he was, pinned underneath a large Pokémon, was he not? And now a sound was accompanying the light. It was a high pitched and soothing song sung specifically to him. Was it a sweet voice of an angel? No, it couldn't be an angel. It was getting louder and more boisterous. A whole choir of angels sung out to him. The light turned into a brilliant red glow as the surroundings darkened even further. The choir was madly drumming into his ears just as his eyes closed to only focus on the gorgeous red light sticking out against the dark backdrop, capable of making the richest rubies and red velvet envious…
The Sharp Claw Pokémon took a short detour and followed a gradually downward incline, a much more gentle descent to make Jack's elevation. She continued to lead the veteran hunter to the site of action, every second against her. Off in the distance was a signaling bronze and crimson mound contrasting with the white backdrop. A few independent brown figures, similar to the one she saw yesterday, were bouncing up and down on it. She turned towards Wilson and pointed at the mass up ahead.
"[There! There! Hurry!]"
Wilson saw the object off the distance and had his jaw drop. It must have been his grandson, Jack Hotchiss. There was no other explanation for it!
"Jack!" called Wilson. He sprinted ahead with dismay and disbelief, hoping that his grandson was all right. He saw the four Teddiursa cubs on top of the dead Ursaring, startled by the Weavile returning with another mysterious, massive monster.
"You! Shoo, shoo! Get off!" screamed the grandfather at the cubs, making them disperse and flee, leaving just the Ursaring with Jack. Its mouth was bloody with multiple other red marks, showing off its fatal wounds. Wilson saw Jack's face tilted onto the ground and emptily looking in his direction with closed eyes. The grandfather gasped and threw his shotgun to the ground, traumatized at seeing his grandson's bloody face.
"No…"
Wilson Hotchkiss knelt alongside his grandson and cradled Jack's head in his arm, starting to uncontrollably sob. He swallowed and put and ear to his mouth, hearing dead-silent and waning breaths from Jack. Wilson couldn't tell what was worse, the fact Jack was not breathing, or he still was and was about to stop soon if he did not get immediate assistance. Cleo looked around and placed a claw on Jack's bloody forehead, near the greatest wound the Ursaring inflicted. She lamented with Wilson in silence for just a second. The grizzled veteran looked at the slope Jack and the Ursaring was at, and then the top of the dead Pokémon's skull. There was a hole about half an inch in diameter expanding outward. No other entry points were found on the head, though the mouth was quite bloody. It gave Wilson an anecdote of the Hibernator Pokémon's last struggles against his grandson.
"He…He couldn't have…"
Wilson lowered Jack's head and vigorously rolled the body off of his grandson, a laborious and critical task he managed to succeed at. With Jack free from the Ursaring, his harrowed body and coat was revealed to Wilson and the Weavile. They recoiled at the gashes and lacerations through the torn coat; ugly splotches of red frayed fabrics adorned the openings. It did not matter that Jack's rifle or Wilson's revolver was missing. All the outdoorsman cared about was getting his grandson out of here and to some place safe. Wilson shot a glance at his shotgun lying in the snow, cursing himself for bringing it with him. He turned towards the Weavile over the bloody body.
"You! Carry that!" he ordered the Weavile as he pointed a thick finger at his shotgun. The Sharp Claw Pokémon heeded the order and carried the substantial gun upside down, one claw on its stock and the other clenched around the barrel, careful not to accidentally shoot it through her awkward hold. Wilson scooped Jack Hotchkiss into his arms, cradling his grandson. Jack was barely alive and breathing, but unconscious from the pain and blood loss. Fresh snow and biting gusts were coming down on the trio.
"Hang in there! We'll get you out of here!"
Wilson and Cleo sprinted out of the wilderness and back to the cabin, fighting against the lack of breath and exhaustion for the sake of Jack. They soldiered on in the high snow on the ground and intensifying snowfall above; they grew tired and heartbroken but preserved all for Jack Hotchkiss. They broke through the tree line and returned to Wilson's cabin, looping around to his vehicle.
Wilson opened the passenger door and placed Jack in the passenger seat. Cleo had enough of lugging around the shotgun and dropped it a dozen feet from the truck's door, a problem nowhere near Wilson's mind. The grandfather turned around at the Weavile approaching the car door, not wanting to be separated from Jack. Wilson grunted and held it open for Cleo to jump into and sit at Jack's feet on the mat, safely tucked inside the truck. Wilson slammed the door shut, picked up his shotgun and went inside to trade it for his keys. He exited just as fast and barreled into the truck, started it up, and floored the pedal to drive Jack to the nearest hospital. They arrived and Wilson carried Jack in his arms once more, hustling to the front door with Cleo hot on his heels. Once inside, Wilson made a beeline to the emergency room.
"It's okay Jack, it's okay! You're gonna be safe now!"
A month passed since Jack Hotchkiss was brought to the hospital, sitting in one of its beds. If it were not for Cleo and Wilson finding him and bringing him back to civilization, he would have perished out in the wild. He could feel countless stitches, staples, and bandages all over his torn body, and there would still be plenty more to be added. The wide gash on his head was closed up as much as possible, getting the most stitches and staples. He still felt fragile and hollow, but most of the pain faded away. The doctors did a marvelous job at closing and cleaning his wounds, and Wilson should've been given a medal for carrying him through who knows how many feet of frozen land back to the cabin. His recovery was far from over, however.
Jack stared at his feet hidden under the sheets, replaying the nightmare again and again and again. He never imagined that he would get mauled by an Ursaring, let alone survive it. Those roars, those teeth, those…injuries it inflicted on him. He would never forget such a nightmare in broad daylight. Flashbacks of following the Pokémon tracks to the cave and ultimately to the protective mother's wrath perpetually replayed. His eyes went to the hospital ceiling, substituting it for the dark clouds that appeared as he was pinned underneath the Ursaring. Jack's left hand patted his left hip, reaching for a firearm that was not there. Instead, there was only soft fabric over him, fabric that would have been obliterated in the paws and jaws of the Ursaring. The same paws and jaws carving in permanent scars, mentally and physically.
Jack's flashbacks were broken when an Audino and Reuniclus came into the room to tend to the young man. The Audino cooed and placed one of its ear extensions onto Jack's heart as the Reuniclus placed one of its green arms over his forehead. It pumped soothing psychic energy into Jack's conscious and rubbed a little of its goo on the side of his head, assimilating into the closed wound to give it regenerative reinforcement. Jack grew calm, thanking the Pokémon for coming in and pacifying him. The Audino gave the clear to pull back and give a courtesy bow for tending to Jack in the bed. He wondered how long he would be stuck here.
Jack overheard a human nurse chatting with somebody outside the room, curious as to who it was. The nurse nodded and stepped aside, letting in a short man in a black suit and bowler hat holding a notebook and pen. He smiled at Jack lying in bed, clicking his pen.
"Ah, you must be Mister Hotchkiss," said the mysterious man as he stood by Jack's side. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine, but who are you?" replied Jack. The man gave another smile and explained himself.
"I'm a journalist, you see. I heard that you survived an attack from an Ursaring. You know, the nice lady outside said that a boy like you surviving such an encounter is frankly unheard of. And you said you've only been out there for a short amount of time, which is even more amazing!"
Jack blushed a little at the stranger's compliment.
"Really? I shouldn't be surprised, but…"
The stranger cut him off, saying "Indeed! So, I was told you have a little free time today. If you don't mind, I would love to hear your story, your own account of what happened. Stuff like this is big news and big money!"
"And what's in it for me?"
The stranger cleared his throat and pulled up a chair, sitting on nearly the same level as Jack.
"Well, you can get your name out in the world that you survived an Ursaring attack, something many people your age could not. As for the money, I proposed to my boss that I could split whatever earnings this story would nab three ways. A third for the company I work for, a third for me, and a third for you and your relatives. All you have to do is answer a few questions and tell the story from your eyes. What do you say?"
Jack looked at the man with widened eyes. He weighed the option of accepting the offer and telling the story or declining. The extra money would be extra useful in paying off the hospital bills, and other people around Unova could hear his story. Having his family name get spread across Unova as a name of temperance and survival was also quite alluring. Jack sat up and was about to accept the proposal when he got more guests.
This time, Wilson and Cleo entered the hospital room, immediately eyeing the suited man sitting next to Jack.
"Hey, what's going on here?" asked Wilson to the journalist.
"Ah! You must be his father, or grandfather!" replied the journalist. "I was just about to have your son tell me his story of the Ursaring attack so I could publish a report on it and sell it. I already explained you'd get a third of the profits on top of having your name get reached to all in Unova. Is that okay, mister Hotchkiss? And what a Pokémon you have!"
Wilson crossed his arms and stood over the foot of Jack's bed with Cleo skittering up and licking Jack's face warmly. The tongue of the Sharp Claw Pokémon soothed Jack far more than the nurses' efforts. He giggled at Cleo licking his face, glad to see her again.
"She's my Pokémon, actually," Jack answered to the journalist. "I can tell you everything that happened. Ready?"
The journalist opened his notebook and was ready to jot down whatever Jack said to make his story.
"Go ahead."
Jack Hotchkiss told the story of that dreadful day, starting from when he woke up to the last moments of consciousness in the ice. He painted a full picture of what happened, down to the feeling of being overpowered by the Hibernator Pokémon and how he was rescued. It gave the journalist everything he wanted and more, a brisk tale of adventure, ending with a horrifying encounter the young man survive to spread the word about. It felt good to Jack actually talking out what happened, and knowing that it will be told to other people as well. He closed on how Wilson rescued him from the brink of death after Cleo went back and alerted him, and how he was hoping for a wondrous recovery.
"Perfect!" announced the journalist as he finished down writing several pages of information from Jack's encounter. "Thank you very much, mister Hotchkiss. I hope you get well soon!" The man held out his left hand, allowing Jack to weakly shake it to end the interview. The man in the black suit walked out of the hospital, leaving Jack alone with Wilson and Cleo.
"Man I thought he'd never leave…" spoke Jack as he turned towards Wilson. The grandfather figure rubbed the back of his neck as Jack just now noticed a small white package held by Wilson.
"Is that a present?"
Wilson cleared his throat and avoided the question, hanging his head low.
"I'm sorry for this, Jack. I really should've taken stricter action for your own safety. It's my fault for knowing how dangerous it is out there and letting you wander around with that Weavile. The doctors said this stuff takes a while. The nurse outside said you'll be getting out in six months if you're lucky. I'm really sorry for bringing this upon you."
Jack felt the sadness in his grandfather's voice. He spoke up against him,
"I don't think you're to blame for this. If you went with me that day instead of Cleo, and it attacked you, you would've died on the spot, no doubt about it. And who knows, even if you tagged with Cleo or me and I took a different path, we still might've ran into trouble with the Ursaring. Critters are sneaky anyway, and not all of them are hibernating in the winter time. Really, though, Cleo's the one that saved me. She managed to get it off me and hold it off long enough so I get that magnum ready to shoot it. It got knocked out of my holster, you know. And she's the one that went back to get you to come and rescue me."
"True," responded Wilson, "but still… I can't help but feel bad for you. The nurses said that people your age do not often survive attacks against those Pokémon. You're very lucky it didn't go for your throat or jugular, or stab you in the brain from that head injury. And that Weavile… maybe they're not sure bad after all."
Jack smiled at seeing Wilson starting to come to terms with the Sharp Claw Pokémon. Wilson rubbed his face and sighed, continuing his speech.
"I already pawned off about half my guns to help cover the hospital bills, mostly the ones that I never shot, and some I hate to depart with'im. I never did find your rifle or my revolver out there, but don't worry about that. I brought back something else for you."
Wilson handed over the strange white package to Jack. He pressed down with his thumbs and shook it around, unable to get any hint as to what it might be.
"What is it?" asked Jack.
"Open it and see for yourself," replied Wilson
Jack gulped and carefully tore open the package, going through layers of tightly wrapped paper to get to the center. Underneath the paper was the Stantler head on the plaque that was previously mounted inside the cabin.
"It's the Stantler I shot!"
He gasped when he fully unraveled it.
It was a massive Ursaring paw with all of its claws intact, severed three inches below the base of the appendages. It had all of its thick, rough bronze fur and the tips of the claw were as sharp as ever. Jack nearly had a panic attack at the fact he was holding one of the Ursaring's paws in his hands. He looked back up at his grandfather, stuttering in trying to thank him.
"To be honest, I thought you were a goner," spoke Wilson with a somber, sober face. "But still, a boy your age and experience out there surviving an attack like this? Not something you hear every day. You'd be a legend back in the day, having your name talked by other settlers over a flickering campfire. Here, if that journalist keeps his word, same sort of thing in the modern age. Maybe you've got a true drive for hunting inside you, which is more than enough to change a boy into a man. You are a true fighter."
Jack nodded at his grandfather with at the beautiful compliment, and turned towards the Weavile at his side. She was smiling and purring loudly at him for knowing that he was alive. Small, beady tears pooled in his eyes at seeing the Sharp Claw Pokémon at his side, directly responsible for his life as he was to hers. Jack Hotchkiss started to sniffle as he lightly stroked the Weavile's forehead and gave a genuine,
"Thank you."
Two years passed since Jack Hotchkiss was mauled by that Ursaring, forever changing him. He made a miraculous full recovery from the wounds and bore the memories left behind on his skin. Wounds that would never leave him in the form of scars; scars that told a tale far more captivating than any words could. Jack became much more solemn as there was not a day that passed by without him thinking about that mauling. Skill, experience, and wisdom came to Jack as he aged, enrichening his respect and understanding for the natural world and its gifts all around him. He purchased another firearm perfectly suited to hunting with a large cache of ammo for it, practicing his aim in preparation for his next big break coming around next winter. The hunter decided to keep his bristly black beard, allowing it grow and flourish as a symbol of his rugged adulthood and love for the outdoors. It was a holdover from his first true hunting experience that molded him into a perfect man in the eyes of his grandfather and of the others so passionate about their timeless connection with nature.
The same is said for Cleo, his Weavile companion. She truly grew and matured from being the lowly Sneasel runt that was the brunt of all bullying, harassment, and abuse from her peers, to being a perfect predator. Her skills and senses sharpened even further and mastered her predatory tempers and instincts, becoming even more dangerous. Her time in the wild and at the hunter's side molded her into an indomitable huntress, sustaining her own enrichment and complimenting the human's own set of talents. To think that she would have never acquired the courage to step up and act out, proving her pack wrong about her capabilities; to think that the huntress would have never crossed paths with the hunter and become mutually beneficial to each other. The two have remained close to each other ever since, never daring to stray far from one another.
Both of them anxiously waited for that special day to come, where open season would be declared. The day where temperatures would drop far below zero and coax out the largest game with the most brazen hunters all of Unova had to offer. In the meantime, both of them conducted fierce training and research, hardening their bodies and minds that went soft from the summer to prepare for the next winter season. They knew that the satisfaction of engaging in one of the oldest acts of humans and Pokémon alike was unmatched.
When that day came, Jack and Cleo set out to the same cabin in the untamed countryside as before, ready to begin another hunting expedition.
Just like old times.