Just a few hours earlier, in the dying hours of daylight, the two hunters were preparing to butcher the Season Pokémon they brought down and recovered. It was a longer, harder trip back to the cottage due to the extra weight they had to lug with them. Both of them shared the weight as much as they could to make the burden lighter as they retraced their steps, thinking about the reward such patience and persistence offered by the brutal Unova snow lands. A treat both of them could enjoy; a large fridge packed with the venison. But first came the last step before they could enjoy another juicy, sizzling slab of a steak.
Butchering and meat processing.
They had returned, safe and sound, and prepared the next step of their hunt. The two men went inside to warm up for a bit and set aside their gear, and then they went to the rear of the cottage. There was a simple wooden contraption of thick beams, ropes, hooks, and chains in the middle of a darkened red ring on the ground accompanied by several buckets and tables. It was Wilson's personal Pokémon processing station to carve the meat from the bones and prepare to store and add the finish touches to later inside the cabin.
"This is our next stop," declared Wilson, "I'll handle most of it from here. You can peel back some of the meat as it gets carved off to help me out, though." He hitched the Sawsbuck carcass on its hind legs onto the do-it-yourself processing station. The Pokémon was fastened tight and was suspended a few inches off the ground, able to loosely sway in the air like a pendulum. Once it was hung up, Wilson took out his hunting knife and started to expertly flay pelt off the Pokémon. Jack looked a little intimidated as Wilson effortlessly went from step to step of the butchering process, shuddering at the morbid thought of Wilson snapping and doing this to a live one.
Almost in the blink of an eye, Wilson managed to peel off the pelt to the head and shove it off the side. Now there was a rich, red body made up entirely of pure muscle hanging upside down, lined with a few streaks of white connective tissue splashed on it.
Jack's mouth started to water at seeing all of that meat waiting to be carved up. Wilson thumbed the tip of his knife and addressed the novice hunter.
"Butchering is pretty simple, just carve and peel it off the bone. This knife will give me no problems slicing through it. I can do this all by myself, but I want you to come closer to learn. It's kind of fun, even."
Jack went to Wilson's side and intently watched as his grandfather started cutting through the meat at one of the Sawsbuck's hind legs. The venison was no match for his knife as it sawed and carved through with minimal resistance. It seemed more like cutting through soggy bread and jelly rather than stiff, bountiful muscle. It only took a few seconds for Wilson to cleanly shave off a slab of pure, red meat bigger than his fist from the carcass's connective tissue and bones.
Even the raw meat of the Pokémon looked appetizing him, and he never paid much attention to where his meat otherwise came from!
"There's a good roast right here!" Wilson exclaimed with a proud smile while holding the venison, "and there's plenty more where that came from, hehehohh."
Wilson put the slab of meat in a bright blue, tall bucket for later. Then he immediately resumed sawing on another part of the Sawsbuck, carving it up into dozens of pieces that could easily serve as a daily meal by itself. Jack helped by carefully holding and peeling the drooping muscle away to give Wilson a better opportunity to shave it off the bones. Once it was free, Jack deposited it in the blue bucket and went to the next one. All the while, Wilson yammered on about some pointers for butchering the Pokémon,
"You can eat the connective stuff if you don't mind the gamey taste, though you can honestly leave it alone with the scraps since we're after the good stuff. I would use a shorter one, so I have a lesser chance of cutting myself, but, eh. Just gotta get as close of a shave as you can, so as little of the meat goes to waste. There's more tenderloin meat hidden by its legs than most people think, so don't wanna pass that up... there we go. You can leave those lymph nodes alone; you don't wanna eat the nasty stuff they collect… ah, a nice piece from its flank. This'll be good after I fry it with butter and spices."
It was getting dark right as the two men finished dressing the deer. All that remained was a hollow, sickly-looking body with the head still intact. What was left would be turned over to the gut pile while the blue bucket was piled high with chunk after chunk of perfect meals in the making.
"Well, that was way better than scooping its guts out," said Jack as he picked up the bucket. Wilson wiped his forehead and knife before replying,
"You're right about that."
He motioned to Jack to go back inside with the meat bucket.
"Head back inside. I'll deal with the venison and this nice trophy later. Tomorrow I'll send it to the taxidermist, and I'll have myself another beautiful trophy."
"How long will it take?"
"Shouldn't take that long, probably an hour at most."
As Wilson thought about how long tomorrow's trip would take, he considered what other things he might want to do during the trip. He rarely returned to cities and towns during hunting season, but when he did, he made sure to knock off as many things on his list as he could. He wiped his forehead and knife clean and reflected on what else would be good to touch on tomorrow.
"Since I'm going to the city for a change, I'll want to do some more stuff rather than sell some meat and get a trophy. Probably gonna get my gun checked out and pick up more ammo for us, so it'll take probably two hours at least. Not to mention stopping by a mechanic and getting my old vehicle looked at. Wanna come with me?"
Jack adamantly shook his head. He was just getting used to being out here, why go back now?
"I'll stay here," the grandson answered, "It's growing me on."
Wilson gave a chuckle and motioned for his grandson to go back into the cabin.
Jack happily followed his command and went inside the warm sanctuary. Wilson stayed out longer to deal with the intact head of the Sawsbuck, getting it ready to separate it from the body and turn it into a taxidermy trophy. Jack placed the bucket on a table and was about to call it a night, letting his grandfather handle the rest. It didn't seem like that long of a day, but it was already night, and he was whopped! But since Wilson would be gone for some time tomorrow, what could Jack do to pass the time? This was still Wilson's property and possessions, and he didn't want to risk ruining anything. He'd surely find a way to keep himself occupied.
Jack crawled into bed after a quick change of apparel, satisfied with how today went.
The night passed and soon came the new day. The Weavile found a tidy spot to sleep for the night upon a mesh of thick branches above the ground, allowing her to climb with the leg in her mouth. She awoke with the leg across her stomach to remind her of her feast. She giggled to herself and bit on the leg, using her mouth as a third hand, as she climbed down and realized that she didn't clean herself of the blood. The Weavile still looked as menacing as she did hours ago.
"Heh, I wish I could do that again!" she mused as she bit another strip of venison off the leg, immediately reminding her of the tender taste of Deerling meat. It didn't taste anywhere as good as the night before, but she didn't mind since there was still a lot of it inside of her. The huntress didn't need to feed for a while, as it freed her up to see what these new lands had to offer. On the other hand, she did feel bloated once she sobered up. Not like she minded, it was a sign she finally had a good meal. There was plenty of meat remaining in her stomach to digest and fuel her activities, albeit slower to due feeling full.
The Sharp Claw Pokémon prowled the ground, exploring the lands beyond the cave. Much to her surprise, or lack thereof, everything continued to look the same. White rolling hills and bare, stiff trees as far as the eye could see, with the occasional rock or depression to spice things up a little. The large gray clouds above to match the ground didn't help much. She sighed at how dull it started to look. At least she added color to the scenery, what with her indigo backside and the faded red color on her front from forgetting to clean herself from the Deerling she slaughtered.
"Maybe I should clean up…"
The Weavile ambled on, nibbling on the Deerling leg occasionally and trying to scrub herself clean with handfuls of snow. It was rough against her fur, and it was much harder to clean than she anticipated. She may be a predator and liked the idea of getting splashed with the remains of her prey, but going clean was the better option. The Weavile got as much as she could off, mostly the surface layer and the stickiest clumps, but felt a bit off.
"Ohhh, I did eat a lot last night. I'm sure I'll manage."
Eventually, the woods started to thicken again, making it a bit difficult for her to maneuver around tighter trees and surfacing roots. Within minutes, she smelled something familiarly fleshy, exactly like the entrails she dug out of the Deerling. Only this one smelt much staler, and weaker.
Curious, the Pokémon followed the source, crouching and weaving through tight brambles to reach the origin of the familiar scent. She arrived at a small circular clearing about ten feet in diameter and saw a splotch of dark-red snow and a few traces of unrecognizable flesh. Coming towards her were small hoof prints left in the snow, and going away from the red splotch were large, very outlandish looking footprints. She sauntered to the red mark and sniffed intently, not getting a scent as powerful as before.
Something was killed here, and something was hungrier than her last night for it to leave even smaller morsels behind. And thankfully, it was long gone by now.
Her free hand patted the ring, picked up one of the smaller morsels, and pulled it to her nose. It smelled loosely like the Deerling she ate; perhaps it was another Season Pokémon?
The odor suddenly got way more repugnant, indicating that it was not fresh, but not quite old yet.
The Weavile had a sour face and sneered at the morsel of flesh, looking away and moaning "eeeyuurch" and threw it to the ground. She resumed her prowl when she noticed the trail of bizarre footprints leading away from the red marking. They were big and vaguely bean shaped. There were two sets of them left in the snow with different patterns, indicating two travelers. One had an intricate pattern of horizontal and vertical bars, while the other had a pattern of mostly squares. They lead into even deeper parts unknown of the woods. Her curiosity was burning brightly as she knelt for a better look.
"This is new," she said to herself while studying the unique prints, "I've never seen these before." She looked up and tried to follow the path they led to with her eyeballs, feeling uncertain about pressing forward. The Sharp Claw Pokémon scratched her chin and got up, making up her mind, "well, whatever it is, it won't be a problem for me."
She followed the set of prints, being ready for anything to lash out from the scenery. Wherever they would lead, The Weavile would find out. Maybe she could meet and entirely new Pokémon.
All the while she subconsciously felt a faint feeling grow in her stomach, twisting and burning inside her…
Back at the cabin, Jack woke up and sat in bed, rubbing his eyes and trying to sober up fully. He got out of bed and realized that Wilson wasn't there.
"Oh, he must've left already…" murmured Jack as he got out of bed and changed into proper clothing. He was alone in a remote trapper's cottage, filled with trophy Pokémon heads, guns, ammo, and meat. All alone in a climate that is commonly well below freezing at any point of the year, with boreal acres spanning for miles in every direction, being stared down by a bunch of inanimate, still heads mounted on the walls looking in one direction for eternity. Jack made a few silly faces at a mounted Stantler head above the fireplace, knowing it was just an object now. The amount of Pokémon his grandfather shot sure was something. As well as the number of guns he owned.
Jack threw on his thicker clothing and walked around the cabin. There were a few sandwiches on the eating table left for him when he woke up. The novice hunter sat down to his breakfast, munching away and looking around the establishment.
He noticed that Wilson's hunting shotgun, the Model 1897, was left on the wall over his bed. Jack thought that this was weird because Wilson talked about taking it with him as he went back to town to pick up some things. Then again, for a gun with that history and quality, did it ever need to be brought to a gun store, disassembled, and repaired? Jack shrugged and kept eating. It was Wilson's firearm, not his. And Wilson has been shooting stuff a lot longer than he has, so it was possible that it didn't need to be brought to town.
Or he forgot. Either one would work.
Jack finished his meal and tried to kill time by looking at his grandfather's gun collection. There were a whole lot of firearms in the cabinets, and who knows how many were hidden around his property. They were somewhat organized; the longer ones on the standing up on the sides or at the top and bottom, while in between were all sorts of handguns of various size and caliber. It was a very impressive collection, though Jack wondered how many bullets were fed through them, let alone fired at least once. Right in the middle was the revolver Wilson brought with him for insurance yesterday, gleaming spotlessly on top of the chest holster.
"Supposedly has more kick than his shotgun, huh."
He thought about opening the cabinet and getting his hands on the revolver, pretending he was some hardened soldier. He protested against it, knowing that all of them were Wilson's. It was also unclear if any of them were loaded, broken and inoperable, or were not meant to be touched by naked hands. Jack got up and gave a soft tug on the cabinet door, realizing it was locked and wouldn't budge.
So Jack moved on to his grandfather's exposed hunting shotgun, carefully handling and examining it in his grasp. He handled it before, but it always felt such a joy in his hands with the history, sheer stopping power, and image it carried. It was a damn good gun, menacing and characteristic even when unloaded. He worked the pump a little, studying how every piece worked and moved together. Except there was something off about the slide.
It felt stiff, stuck, and stubborn. The young man had to use much more force than before to fully pull it back and open the mouth underneath the frame. It felt sticky and awkward, making him realize that something was malfunctioning. Maybe Wilson forgot to take his shotgun with him, of all things, and it was best to put it aside and not dare to shoot or even dry fire it right now. Jack's heart started to beat harder as he put it back on the wall like nothing happened, hoping that he didn't break it just now.
He admitted to himself that it was for the better he left Wilson's guns alone unless he was given permission otherwise. But Jack still felt so bored being cooped up in the cottage. Jack just wanted to do something to pass the time until Wilson returned.
However… Jack still had his gun he could handle however and whenever he wanted…
And it didn't look too terrible out. For one, it wasn't snowing and the clouds had considerable breaks in them, like massive slabs of ice floating in the sea. Every now and again, the sun peaked out, casting its brilliant rays on the landscape before fading out from a large cloud passing in front of him. Because it did not snow, the footprints he left remained in the snow. Maybe he could retrace the path he and Wilson took yesterday and see if there was something new for him. And it wouldn't be difficult finding his way back to the cottage.
He scratched the short, growing stubble on his chin and felt butterflies in his stomach. As weird as it was, going out for a hike didn't seem like a bad option to him. Sure, he would be alone, and Wilson could return quicker than expected, which would cause a bigger problem than boredom. Jack knew his grandfather was gone for a while. Nobody was there telling him what he could or could not do, including going outside to deal with his cabin fever. Heck, he might even successfully shoot something out there!
The budding outdoorsman threw on the rest of his outdoor gear, especially his Encore and the holster he bought for it, to get out and get some fresh air by retracing the path he and his grandfather took. Jack clenched his teeth and stepped out of the cabin, embracing the drastic different in temperature and set off to the trail.
The Weavile traced the odd footprints in the snow, not knowing nor caring where they might lead. Following the footprints deep into the foreign parts of the ice domain felt exciting to her, a challenge she wanted to carry out and finish. The severed leg of the Deerling was still in her clutches with its upper half completely gnawed to the marrow. Now it was about as filling and nutritious munching on a dried stick. She idly peeled back some of the fur and skin near the hoof, not wanting to consume it and ruin her morning snack with a bad taste of plain fur. The curious Pokémon continued to follow the tracks and felt the sickness in her stomach accumulate.
At first, the Pokémon ignored it, thinking it was just indigestion. But as time passed, the feeling worsened and spread like a virus across her body. The sick feeling in her stomach spread to her limbs and head, replacing strength with aches. She grunted at a headache popping up out of no and once more tried to ignore it. A simple headache and sick feeling erupted into something much, much worse as she started to heave and feel the pain in her belly become exponentially agonizing.
It felt as if there was an angry, shrunken Scolipede thrashing inside her, awakening from a bad sleep and making an uncomfortable itch go to agonizing irritation in her bowels from terrible poison. Her limbs waned and shivered against her will, threatening to give out at any moment. Her headache turned into splitting nausea, and her entire body felt as if it was simultaneously boiling and freezing. Out of panic, she looked behind herself, vision going slightly blurry and fuzzy at seeing and hearing things that were not real.
The Sharp Claw Pokémon's mind race as she tried to figure out why she was feeling ill while clasping her stomach to ineffectively quell the agony. Pokémon don't get sick like this for no reason, and this severe, right? Getting infected with something like this was impossible! She shot a glance at the severed leg still in her possession to try and get any clues.
And that is where the Weavile's eyes were pried opened and dilated in horror as she figured out the reason for her sudden illness.
The Weavile stared at her belly as her illness worsened by the second. She just remembered that she scarfed down almost a whole Deerling in one quick sitting. Somewhere along the line, she swallowed a mouthful of something she shouldn't have. Whether the entire body was tainted, or it was an organ she forgot about as a toxic control center, dealing with loads of hazardous substances that needed time to be neutralized.
She engorged herself on contaminated meat, and it was still being digested and redistributed to the farthest corners of her body!
The Sharp Claw Pokémon took a final, furious glance at the severed leg and chucked it far from sight, frothing with a terrible feeling of poisoned betrayal. One hand was cupped on her forehead and another was cupped on her stomach to provide wasted comfort. The Weavile wandered loosely along the trail of odd footprints in food-poisoned agony.
The Sharp Claw Pokémon did her best suppress the ailment as much as she could, but it was a battle she was losing. There were burning, freezing aches acting all over her body and popping in her joints while her stomach now felt like it was being cut up. It got hard for her to even walk let alone focus on some markings in the snow. The Weavile started to moan and groan in pain, feeling like absolute shit in the middle of nowhere.
And worse came to worse as there were probably other Pokémon stalking her from afar, waiting for her to collapse to move in and have the easiest pickings they could get this winter. She was not the only one out here, after all. It compelled her to start running through the snowy fields, expending precious energy that would be better off in fighting off her newly acquired sickness instead of hurrying her along. It was not like she wanted to take a risk, isolated in the ice, as there was always something else snooping around, waiting for the perfect moment to jump in.
Time seemed to go way faster for Jack as he retraced yesterday's path through the wintry woods. He felt protected and independent with his Encore slung on his back, ready to be drawn and fired at the slightest bit of trouble through the barren trees he passed. The footsteps he and Wilson made were thankfully still fresh in the snow, and occasionally he saw the light markings of Pokémon footprints in the mix. He wondered where they came from, what left them in the snow, and where the Pokémon that made them be now. Continuing their endless walk, stopping to rest or fight, or stopped dead altogether? It was a perfect opportunity to learn more about the boundless wild and the creatures living in it because he was most likely going to go hunt all by himself one day, and figuring out how to track Pokémon was vital. Jack kept an eye out for any unusual markings left in his surroundings to investigate, where they went and perhaps where they ended as he continued his brisk walk.
And Jack stuck to the old path through the silent and secretive white woodland, reaching the invisible midpoint of the journey he and Wilson had yesterday. The young man caught a glimpse of something exceptionally striking against the scenery far ahead.
He stopped and focused his eyes on an upright darkened mass with something red right above it, lethargically moving through the snow, making quiet moaning sounds. Jack's heart skipped a beat as his drew his single shot firearm from his holster and slammed a .308 round into the chamber. His hands had a death grip on the gun as he cautiously approached the peculiarly colored figure. Jack's jaw dropped once he realized what it was. It was something so stark, something so contrasting against the white void of the woods.
It was a Weavile.
The very same Pokémon Jack's grandfather hated with all his soul.
Jack got in closer and stopped when he heard a gut-wrenchingly uncomfortable sound up ahead, from the Weavile.
The sickened Pokémon's illness grew to a boiling point, making her agony audible as she dropped to her knees and starting to breathe like she was in labor. She felt her heart madly drum against her chest, trying to escape. Her stomach and esophagus suddenly felt crushed, forcing the Weavile to all fours and closing her eyes.
She gave a mighty heave and violently vomited onto the snow; it was her body's most direct and impetuous way to purge the sickness from stuffing herself. The contents of her stomach were vehemently emptied and bile spewed onto the snow, taking with it unrecognizable chunks of half-digested meat with it. The Weavile paused and torturously purged her system of the entire infection once more with another repulsive act of vomiting, carrying away as much of the food poisoning from her system as she could. The next few ones were not as punishing as the first two, but continued until there was nothing left to expunge, leaving the Weavile with a hollow belly. All the while, she felt as if she was covered in tar and set alight, succumbing to the sickness even as it was leaving her.
Jack further approached the Pokémon, trying to not vomit as well from witnessing something so vulgar, and plain wrong. The Pokémon stopped purging itself, and starting to stand back up, making Jack freeze in place and point his gun at the pitiful Pokémon.
She finally stood up and opened her eyes, her world suddenly going very fuzzy. The Pokémon got on her feet and saw a tall, blurry object in front of her, not moving at all. The Weavile took two crooked steps forward and stopped to stare at the tall and fuzzy object.
The Weavile leaned forward slightly, like a hunchback, allowing her arms loosely dangle in front of her. Her claws rested in front of her knees, twitching. The Sharp Claw Pokémon was marked with many scars, scuff marks, and cuts; evidence of countless past conflict. Her breathing was no longer audible to Jack's ears as it went deathly silent, pumping hidden air through her lungs. Small, unidentifiable fluids dripped from her mouth and silently fell onto the snow, vanishing on the ground. The Weavile felt her limbs shaking in weakness and chills, similar to a rickety building foundation about to topple from the weight.
But the most remarkable feature was her gorgeous eyes of scarlet being partially obscured by her upper eyelids that were drooping halfway across her eyes.
Eyes that gave a cold, vacant, thousand-yard stare with her lips slightly curved downward at the human from the sheer trauma she had to endure up to this point.
Eyes richer than the reddest rubies.
Eyes sweeter than the richest red velvet.
The Weavile took two more delayed, crooked steps towards the figure, felt her world suddenly go black, and collapsed face first. At that exact moment, a cold wind and light snowfall whistled through their souls.