April 2005

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Wyr was close now. Nothing outwardly told him so, but he could feel it. A little further, he thought, I'll be on them soon… He tore across the terrain with inhuman fury. His eyes were wild and unblinking, as though afraid they would miss some crucial detail.

Wyr had started tracking the Rockets from the point he had lost them, following in the direction in which he had seen them leave. He had shuddered when he passed it. The rain that now battered the mountain trail above Rock Tunnel hadn't washed the blood away, and the sight of it only served to further infuriate him. Fortunately for Wyr, one of the Rockets (Wyr assumed it was the one who had blown the smoke in his face) wasn't careful about discarding his cigarette butts. Every five minutes or so he would pass a new one, and he would know he was on the right track.

Thoughts of Ixion drifted into his mind as he ran along a likely path. She sure had grown. Truthfully, he had not recognized her at first. How long had it been since he last saw her? He regretted not stopping to talk to her. He regretted not returning her hug. Most of all, he regretted not asking for her help. Catching himself, he shook those thoughts from his head. Focus, Wyr, he thought. Focus on the task at hand. With that, he quickened his pace with a new fever.

It was night when he saw the glow of a fire in the distance. Thinking he may have finally found his quarry, his head filled with images of Butterfree, and the weariness of the day's running melted away.

He crept silently along the rocks as he approached, staying out of sight of the fire. As he neared, he saw the shadows of figures being cast on the stone walls, and the sounds of canine-like Pokémon scuffling while people, presumably their trainers, laughed and joked.

Wyr's body and mind grew tence like a steel trap. Could this be them?

He moved with caution, straining not to make a sound and hoping that he wasn't upwind of the canine Pokémon. The fire was situated in the center of a large clearing, encircled by enourmous boulders, the smallest of which about twice the size of Wyr. He silently crept up behind one of the boulders and peered around it at the camp.

Wyr's whole body stiffened as he beheld the same Rocket members that had assaulted him one night ago. Their Houndoom and Mightyena fought over the meat of some other freshly killed Pokémon.

He retreated to the darkened side of the boulder and pressed his back against it, fighting the urge to scream out as the memories came back and the rage boiled up inside of him. His mind flooded with thoughts of what he should do next. He knew they had his Pokémon, but how was he going to get them back? With only one of his Pokémon remaining at his belt he was hopelessly outnumbered. And once he did get the Pokémon back, what would happen next? Wyr's head swarmed like an angry hive, good and bad ideas alike shot back and forth until finally, something inside of him grew tired of inaction.

Wyr watched, horrified, as his body moved of its own accord. His hand drew the six inch hunting knife from a hidden place under his pant leg. WHAT AM I DOING! Wyr screamed at himself. His body rounded the boulder, locked eyes on the nearest Rocket… and Wyr didn't think anymore.

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AN. This chapter was written mostly by James, but he insists that I upload it with the rest of the story. Any Wyr-centric chapters will be written or at least outlined by James so I can properly get into his head x3.

Please reviewwwww!