Chapter Two: The Trainer
Squirtle panted as he scurried through the forest, his stout blue legs clambering over tree roots and logs, crunching softly on the fallen leaves and the shoots that sprouted and unfolded their shy, light-green bodies over the soil. Thank Arceus that Charmander had run into the scene and rescued him from that Ekans! That little sneak owed it to me, Squirtle chuckled to himself. But all jokes aside, Charmander had without a doubt paid him back in full for the escapade in the pond. Squirtle would have to thank him later.
He paused and glanced over his shoulder. Where was Charmander? Squirtle had fully expected his best friend to be skittering a few steps behind him, catching up as he, too, ran away. He skidded to a full stop and scanned his surroundings carefully, eyes peeled for the slightest flash of orange. He looked in one direction, then the other. Nothing.
"Charmander?" Squirtle whispered loudly. His friend had to hear him. The forest was almost silent now. Too silent. "Charmander, you've got to answer me." Squirtle shivered. The eerie stillness wasn't right. Where was Charmander? Could he—?
No, Squirtle told himself, laughing at himself. It was ridiculous; he had seen his friend in action. Charmander could take anything. Squirtle often teased him, yes, poked fun the way he always did, but he knew his friend's power—better, in fact, than ol' Charm knew it himself. Charmander could hesitate at times, unsure of himself, but Squirtle was confident that he was capable of handling anything. Anything.
But it wouldn't hurt to check… Squirtle tilted his head, contemplating, and then heaved a sigh as he resignedly swiveled around and trudged back the way he came. Charmander, you owe me for this one, buddy.
He retraced his steps in a slow, quiet tiptoe, creeping toward the bushes. Sniffing the air carefully, he suddenly caught a whiff of the berry juice he had smeared all over the leaves as he ate and spotted the red stains on some bushes to his right. Right there. Squirtle hurried forward and ducked behind the branches, peering through the leaves into the clearing.
Charmander was nowhere to be seen. But there was someone else where his friend had stood.
A young human girl with a mane of curly brown hair bent down to pick something off the ground. From where he stood behind her, Squirtle could only see her tangled locks, cascading over her shoulders toward the ground like a nest of snakes, and the slender back of her legs. He narrowed his eyes. A human. He had never had a very high opinion of those high-and-mighty creatures who believed the world was theirs, who believed that they owned the land and could do anything they desired with the Pokemon who inhabited it. Well, bad news, Squirtle wanted to snarl at them, it isn't yours. It's just as much—no, more so—ours. And we're prepared to take it back.
But this was not the time; he could only hide and wait, wait for any sign of Charmander. This girl—who was she? Was she connected to Charm, somehow? He watched her intently as she stood and squealed triumphantly, bouncing up and down. He winced and covered his ears.
"Look! I got it!" The girl danced about and giggled, tossing her hair. "Oh, I knew I would." With those words, her voice struck a lilting, arrogant chord. Squirtle grumbled under his breath. How irritating.
Without warning, he heard a rustle to his left and froze, slamming a hand over his mouth. His muscled tensed, ready to run if anyone—or anything—spotted him and wanted to attack.
But the human boy who emerged from the trees saw nothing and heard nothing else as he raced toward the girl and threw his arms around her, engulfing her in a smothering embrace. Squirtle gagged to himself as the girl simpered in return and held the object she had picked up out to the boy.
"Look what I got," she announced.
"Oh, that's great, Mallie!" he exclaimed, and embraced her again. "You're so amazing. So amazing." He gazed raptly down at her, his eyes swollen with sickening adoration.
"I know," Mallie cooed triumphantly. And as her lips met his, she turned to the side, ever so slightly, so that Squirtle could see the object she held in her hand, the hand now wrapped tightly around the boy's waist.
His stomach dropped. No. No, it couldn't be. This girl? This silly, self-absorbed girl? His body felt cold, choked with frozen dread, as if the water inside him had chilled to ice. Ice, the opposite of the red burning on the surface of that frightful orb, and the red that must be burning somewhere deep within it.
Charmander was curled tightly inside there somewhere, inside that small, spherical cage. Squirtle's heart sank. His friend was lost. Lost, he knew, inside the impenetrable walls of a Pokeball.