Title: Darkest Hour

Disclaimer: Pokemon, not mine etc blah blah.

About: In the games, the adults are so stern about children never wandering away, despite pokemon being shown as a part of every day life. That got me thinking… there would have to be regions where pokemon trainers where few and far between and rarely ventured- just what would the pokemon there think of humans?

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"Lacy..."

The boy hisses urgently, trembling with nerves and the cold as he peeks around the bulk of the tree. Brows furrowed with concentration, his sister flips him a rude signal and hisses for him to be quiet. Biting his lip, the youngster edges back and forth from the side of the tree, unwilling to watch the trouble his sister is sure to stir, but unable to truly look away.

Moving carefully, the girl wriggles under a bush and sneaks closer. They are down-wind; the girl has made sure of this, watching the episode of Trainer Mary over and over again, because this is what needs to be done. Wincing as a stubborn branch rakes down her side, she moves closer, on her elbows and knees.

Her baby brother is still fidgeting, and the need to scold him burns in her throat like a breath of air held for too long. But she pushes the temptation away fiercely. Trainer Mary is kind and sweet and nice to her little brother, and perhaps it is okay to follow that example just this once.

Sucking in her stomach and flinching away from slimy leaf mold and what looks like rattata scat, she worms closer to the edge of the tiny clearing. Lacy has been watching the small heard of ponyta for weeks now, getting closer and closer each time, letting them get used to her scent. Of course, Trainer Mary didn't have to spend half as long doing this, but Lacy consoles herself with the thought that her ponyta friend will be much better, anyway.

Breathing shallowly, because there's a funny smell in the air that makes her feel sick, she wriggles a bit more and cautiously pushes some brushes aside.

It doesn't occur to Lacy to be suspicious of the fire-ponies being awake so long after sundown. It is nearly midnight, but she notices nothing unusual, her head filled full of daydreams and a quickly quashed longing for her bed.

Nickering, heads bobbing, the pony pokemon mill in the clearing, flames surging up and down, the flickering of the fire-light strangely hypnotic. Lacy feels her eyelids drooping and jerks herself awake. An elderly ponyta is hobbling to the edge of the herd now, eyes rolling to show the whites, skin rippling as it fights back fear.

Anger fills Lacy; this isn't the one that she wants! Trainer Mary got a beautiful young ponyta with a coat like snow, and Lacy has being eyeing off one of the fillies clustered in the centre of the herd. This is wrong. Incensed, she gets to her feet, intending to scare the old ponyta away.

When the herd of beautiful fire ponies freeze in terror and scream shrilly in alarm, at first she thinks it is because she has scared them. Ahead of her, the older ponyta snorts and paws at the ground, jerking his head and grunting urgently. Lacy ignores him, stomping forward, and opens her mouth to yell at him.

Cherry red flames blazing high, the ponyta risks one last glance at her and then bolts, kicking up dust and dirt with its hooves. Choking on the strangely thick smell that has invaded the clearing, she doubles over, fighting for air. There is something warm at her back, and for a moment she thinks it is Mark, the big scaredy-meowth.

Then sharp claws rake a bleeding gash from shoulder to thigh and she screams, rolling on the ground, hacking and coughing as the world dims and blurs. Warm, fetid breath washes over her face and she tries to scream again, but only manages to gurgle instead. Puzzled, she reaches pudgy fingers up to her throat, and feels something warm and slick running in rivulets down her front. Dazed, she thinks of what a mess she looks like; Trainer Mary would never have gotten so dirty; and wonders why she feels so sleepy. Somewhere, from far away, she hears a thin, high pitched sound that might be a scream- but it is fading away, and when did it get this dark?...

Shaking herself vigoruously, the houndoom bitch grunts, calling her pups. Yapping and squalling, they tumble from the bushes where she hid them, and investigate the corpse curiously. They look at her, wondering what the word for this food is. Already they know the words for the burning-runners, the small-ground-diggers, and the flying-things. But this is something they have not yet seen in their romps around the forest.

The bitch whines and frowns, sniffing at the strange thing. It looks a little like the fighting pokemon she occasionally sees on the lower slopes of the valley, but is much paler, and covered in a strange, thin fur that rips easily. She nudges the corpse again, inhaling deeply as she searches her memory banks. Still nothing, and she licks cautiously at the gaping ruin of the things throat.

Easy-kill, she grunts at her pups, and they settle down too feed. Still, something about the creature makes her ill at ease, and when they are done she chars the bones to ash and buries them as deeply as she can. Satisfied by this she leads the pups back to the den, and ignores the thin, shaking form of a boy wrapped around a sturdy tree limb high over her head; she is full, and the prey will be easy to track tomorrow, when her pups clamour for food once more.

Later that week there is a massive manhunt in the Blackthorn mountains, as authorities search for a young girl and her brother. Their teary eyed parents plead with the public to give them something -anything- that might help the two be found. Eventually, a young girl comes forward, saying that she heard that Lacy wanted a Ponyta just like Trainer Mary.

The police sigh and shake their heads, as the situation becomes all too familiar. There is a reason why they tell young children to stay out of tall grass, after all.

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