A/N: A bit of explanation at the end.

Sedimentation
Chapter 3

The zubat flew out of the cave after the larvitar she had been talking to had drifted off. Her own stomach growled, begging her for food. And she still had a long hunt ahead of her, if she did intend to travel to the top of the mountain.

But it was an idea that was growing in her mind with each beat of her wings. She liked it. It was better than doing the same thing over and over. Better than following the same routine until she died. In a world where there was nothing to accomplish besides survival, she wanted to accomplish something. A little journey that would mean nothing in the end…but she knew she was getting old. Too old now to evolve and survive the process. Too old perhaps to fly in another winter. Her wings were frailer than others of her kind now. They weren't quite strong enough to hold her in the hailing winds, so she had to wait for them. That was why she fed the littlest larvitar. Because it was too difficult to get enough meat for the bigger ones. That task was left to the stronger, younger ones.

But now she had another reason for needing more meat, and she would have to face the full ferocity of the outside winter in order to gain it. She would need to beat the hail that would pound on her wings, the strong gales that would try and toss her out of the air and whatever wakeful eyes that were likewise scavenging for prey.

There were even the rare abomasnow fighting each other for the more appetizing flesh of their own kind – but the zubat were not brutal fighters. If one of their kind fell from the sky and froze, they would strip the brittle bones of their flesh as an act of need and honour and respect. It was better to be taken by another zubat than be ripped apart by any of the other savage pokemon. But they did not kill each other for that meat. They took whatever could be found – and there was always some sort of meat to be found. Because all pokemon required sustenance. All pokemon needed to eat to keep on hanging on to life. Eventually those who did not have others to bring food to them would have to come out into the cold spread of winter to seek their food – and nature would snatch away the weaker and more vulnerable of them.

Zubat had two things to protect them: their speed and the small size of their bodies, able to move quickly to keep themselves warm while evading the obstacles of the storms. They also had the larvitar in the cave. They could huddle between the barely moving curled forms and be warmer than their summer perches in the deeper caves, their wings beating minutely even in those silent moments to stop the cold from seizing their hearts.

Outside though, there was no such protection to relax within. And she was on the hunt for food: for meat she could carry back with her and tuck into the larvitar's still developing hide. It would take a good few trips to have enough for the journey they had planned, to be safe from the fate that would await them otherwise. But it also came down to what they could carry between them, and for that long period it would be next to nothing for her. The larvitar would have to carry it all.

She sped into the sleets of hail as quickly as she could, doing her best to evade the cold. Despite her small size, it was impossible to avoid the ice completely; that became the battle: staying in the air while searching for the dark fur of some stray rattata that had met its fate in the snow.

She spotted one and dove down, building pressure behind her wings so she could release them with a cutting force. It was a skill most zubat had not mastered, and it had taken her most of her life to grip it. But it was a useful one; it saved them many pains of carrying a frozen corpse otherwise. Cut into pieces, each of the zubat could take a part and carry it.

And when there was only one like then, she could use a weaker, more lasting breath of wind to carry them. It would be exhausting, especially against the hail, but at least she wouldn't risk losing her prey to any other pokemon lying in wait or battling the storms such as she.

She couldn't have mentioned it to her clan; they would have been angered at the wild ideas of that larvitar, and her humouring them. But she was old now; she doubted she would live through another winter, and in that one she will be old and frail, to be fed like these larvitar were currently being fed by her and her kind. She did not look forward to such an end; for her, like most zubat, to fly was to live. To be forced to lay, curled, in a cave for such a long period of time was beyond her mental strength; she'd rather fall from the sky and become the food of her brethren than surrender to that.

And to be able to fly inward, to the peak of the mountain where the sun touched – she wouldn't mind that, honestly. She would enjoy that. And for a larvitar she was sure would die as well – there was no need to conform to the ways of their clans if their clans strove for survival and they for some peace before death. Nothing would save them anyway; they might live longer, yes, but not long enough for anything to change in their world. And not all the old zubat slumbered their way to death, or fell from the sky. Some had taken that journey before. She wasn't sure how many took a companion with them though. She also wasn't sure how many made it to the peak.

With larvitar carrying enough food for the both of them and the ice they could break and devour, they stood a good chance of making it if luck followed them on their ordeal. If they were attacked too savagely, or pillaged, or one of them fell ill or was injured, they'd be delayed and the delay would cost them – but the what ifs didn't matter as much as they had the previous winter, or the one before. Maybe it was because now she could feel her death approaching: the old age that would soon start locking her bones and slowing her wing beats. Or maybe it was because the desire in that young larvitar's heart had awakened a fire within her as well.

She let that fire fuel her, gritting her teeth against the sleets of hail and flapping her wings, this time, against them. A small gust formed, and she struggled to maintain it. The hail was blowing the wrong way. But she managed; she had experience, and strength enough left for this. She had the winds carry her meat to the mouth of the cave before she fell atop it, on the ground.

As the odour started rising up, she opened her fangs and dribbled a little poison on top of the skin, killing the smell. She didn't want other cave dwellers to come after her. If they hadn't been at the cave mouth already it was unlikely they'd come so close to the mouth on a whim, and if the smell couldn't reach them, whim was the only reason they would have to approach.

She could rest in the mouth for a while, bear the cold wind that blew her way on occasion for the soft, near effortless vibrations of her winds in their unstruggling state. She could catch her breath and her energy before carrying her load again, back to those caves where the larvitar was waiting for her. That wouldn't take as much struggle. There were a plenitude of places to hide things once within the mountain. Places only the zubat knew. She could hide some of the meat there, and come back for it. That was not a problem.

Though it was a bitter thought to think she needn't have done so only a year or two ago. A rattata of that size had been easily carried by her gust back then.

Post A/N: Zubat are pacifists, so they find prey that's already dead and take that, including their own dead. The abomnasnow on the other hand are quite aggressive, so much so that they'll kill each other to have fresh meat. The larvitar won't kill other larvitar, but towards other species like the geodude, they are also quite aggressive. But there's not a whole lot to be gained by being aggressive to such small creatures like the zubat, and the hail/snow hides them quite well anyway. Their main enemy in the winter snow/hailstorms is the weather.