When Sticks awoke after her night of "rescuing" the Mobian stuck in her trap, the first thing she did was check on her guest. She grabbed her boomerang and nun chucks, a coil of rope, and a glow rock and started scrambling down further into her hole. She wound her way through the different tunnels leading down into the caverns and finally stopped at the edge of a cliff.
The cliff dropped down about fifteen feet or so, a large distance for a Mobian, and the sides of the cliff had been polished smooth and chipped at until it rose nearly straight up, like a wall. Sticks had modified this little pit herself, just in case invaders ever stumbled upon her hole and tried to snoop around.
Now, it made the perfect quarters for unusual and potentially dangerous guests.
Sticks peeked her head over the edge of the drop.
The Mobian still lay on its back, just how he had looked after she had dumped him over the drop last night. She knew he wasn't dead because he was snoring.
If he had died, she could have cooked him up and added him to her winter storehouse.
Sticks. You should not eat people you are supposed to help.
Sticks shoulders slumped in defeat. "I know."
Instead, she would have to feed him. From her winter storehouse.
Sticks grumbled to herself. She turned around and scrambled back through the tunnels.
When Sticks returned with fish, radishes and nuts, she found her guest was awake and talking to himself. She scurried forward and looked down over the edge.
"Made your way up the hill….over the rise…you still had it then…" The creature sat up, its head resting on its hands. The light of the glow rock Sticks had left behind fell on his shoulders, revealing the rich red of his coat. Sticks could almost see just as well in the dark as in the light, so she had noticed the rest of his prominent features from the start. The spikes on his gloved knuckles, his ragged pants, his crooked tail shaped like a lightning bolt, his purple eyes, his longish peach-colored snout and pointy nose, his dreadlocks. However, she had no idea what type of Mobian he was. She had never needed to study other Mobian specie patterns before.
She listened, her eyes bright, not daring to move.
"It's no use, Knuckles," the creature hissed to himself. "You have lost it again!"
He slammed his fist into the ground with a thud that toppled several loose rocks from the cave ceiling.
"You allowed the metal birds who could shoot fire from their mouths to come to Angel Island, though you tried to keep them away…but even with your Strength, what is Strength against so many? And yet, you should have found some way to keep them from the island and…and the relic." His voice faltered. "Since that day, you have proved a weak Guardian…"
Stick's eyes widened.
