Chapter 3

Foreign

"Would you like a berry, Squirtle?"

Quil plucked two bright berries from the boughs of a delicate tree. Each was a vivid sky blue, and when looked at closely, covered with darker speckles all over. Not counting the wide leaves at the stem, each berry was big enough to be two or three mouthfuls. Fuller mouthfuls, for the Cyndaquil.

He backed away from the berry tree, carrying the berries gingerly using both forelimbs, and rejoined Squirtle on the path leading through the hills and slopes to Karprest.

"We have to keep our strength up on the road, Squirtle. I don't know about you, but I've been hungry since we left Root Forest. So unless you have some snacks stashed in your shell..." He pretended to give a look-over of Squirtle's shell. "...you must be hungry too!" He laughed lightly.

Squirtle nodded gratefully and accepted one of the berries. As he caught the berry's faint, unfamiliar scent, he found he was hungry.

"Thanks, Quil. What is it?"

"Actually...I don't know."

Squirtle stopped with the fruit halfway to his mouth. "You don't know?"

Hurriedly, Quil said, "Oh, well I know it's not poisonous! I've eaten them before! I just don't know what they're called, or if they're useful for reversing any conditions. But honestly, they're fine to eat. I know that much. They can't be harmful if I've eaten them before with no side-effects, right? Not even a stomach ache."

Squirtle thought for a moment, berry in hands, then asked, "Are there foods that affect different Pokémon in different ways?"

"I...never thought of that, Squirtle. But no, not that I know of. Someone would have told me if that were true, I think. A berry's a berry." He Cyndaquil-smiled at Squirtle, which was identifiable by his eye wrinkles stretching sideways.

Squirtle nodded, and without further hesitation, chomped down on the skin of the berry. The slightly hooked shape of his upper lip helped to break through the skin of the berry. Maybe it would help in a tight spot during a fight, he thought offhandedly as the berry juice rushed into his mouth.

Bitter. The berry tasted decidedly bitter. However, the berry's spongy texture and water component redeemed it. The bitterness wasn't too strong, anyway. Squirtle could overlook the taste, considering his formidable hunger. As he started on his second bite, Squirtle felt something on his skin that he thought he recognized. The sensation felt like a chilly breeze whispering against his exposed skin. But he soon forgot about the fading sensation as he noticed what Quil was doing.

The Cyndaquil had his berry balanced on the tip of his short snout. He was walking next to the Squirtle on his two legs as he had been, but his face was pointed straight up. The blue berry was desperately trying to roll off his snout. Yet Quil was skilled, and countered every one of the berry's wobbly motions with a quick adjustment of his snout position. All the while, he silently and smoothly kept pace with Squirtle.

"Impressive," Squirtle commented.

Quil jerked his snout back, allowing the berry to drop to his mouth. He took a little bite and sucked in as much of the flowing juice as he could. After chewing and swallowing, he said, "Thanks. My older brother used to balance his food like that all the time." Quil was smiling. "He was an expert," he added quietly.

Squirtle turned away and resumed scanning the road sides for threats. Quil must have been close to his family, as he'd mentioned them a couple of times already. Squirtle wanted to ask his companion why he was journeying, and where he came from, but questions addressing immediate matters, like survival, had to be asked first.

Up on a nearby hilltop, with its body framed against the cloudy sky, Squirtle spotted a small Pokémon. It had pointy, horn-like structures sprouting from its head, and its arms swirled outward to become floral blooms. Roselia. The species name sprung into Squirtle's mind, as it had with Cyndaquil. Thus, Squirtle could remember the names of at least the more common Pokémon. Fortunately, the silhouette seemed to regard them for a moment, then turn away and descend the other side of the hill.

"Did you see that Pokémon? I think a Roselia?" Squirtle raised his little arm to point. "It was atop that hill, way over there."

"No, I must have missed it. Why?"

"It noticed us, but it left us alone."

"Yeah, I think you're right, Squirtle." He took a little bite out of his speckled berry. "But what's strange about that?"

Squirtle felt himself beginning to blush again. Being ignorant of what was apparently common sense was really embarrassing him! Yet he couldn't take back what he said now.

"Well, why didn't it attack us? Every other Pokémon we've seen has. And you said it yourself, the Pokémon living out here just experienced the storm to end all storms. You made it sound like they would be scared into a fighting mood."

"Erm, Squirtle...wouldn't you?"

Squirtle was taken aback. His reasoning mind wanted to immediately respond 'No,' but he reminded himself of his present position and his new perspective. He imagined himself huddling behind the leeward side of a tree, making himself as small as he could, and desperately waiting for the storm to pass each time a lightning bolt illuminated the countryside with an accompanying thunderclap. Yes, he would be frightened. But he would not want to fight any travelers that passed by. Definitely not. He told the Cyndaquil so.

This time, Quil seemed surprised. "But Squirtle, your instincts would be roused. I don't know much about the instincts of your kind, but I know that most Pokémon fight first and ask questions later when they find themselves in a dangerous situation. That's just how we are when our instincts rise up."

He lowered his head and seemed embarrassed when he spoke again. "Explaining this is so odd. You don't have your memories though, so I'm not just stating the obvious, right? If you could remember your past, I'm sure you could recall times when your instincts took over after you were scared or threatened."

I doubt it Quil, Squirtle thought with a grimace. Thinking further, an inconsistency with Quil's explanation occurred to him.

"Quil, you didn't want to battle other Pokémon, back in the forest. And I didn't either."

Quil laughed softly. "Ha, I admit, it's easier for some 'mon to keep their heads, as it is for you or me. It helps if you're a traveler, since there are no territorial urges at work." He began to sound uncomfortable again. "This is just so strange, explaining this. Do you understand what this is like, Squirtle? I feel like I'm explaining why Bugs are scared of Flyers, or what color the sky is."

"Please, continue," Squirtle urged.

"Anyway, so there are no territorial urges – homes to protect, children to defend, food sources to look after. And I think simply being out of your element lessens the urge to fight, too. There's no reason to challenge and push out newcomers when you're away from home." He reflected for a couple of seconds. He seemed pensive. "Oh, and Pokémon who don't live in the wild won't be itching to fight, either. The residents of Karprest will be peaceable. At least, they should be," he finished quietly.

"Pokémon live outside the wild?"

"Some. It's not for everyone."

Squirtle glanced over. "Did you, Quil?"

"Me? Oh, no. I live with my family over in Steady Steppe." Noticing Squirtle's lack of reaction, he explained, "It's a prairie, a huge grassland. Back where we came from, way past Root Forest." He opened his mouth to say more, but closed it again. "That's where I'm from," he said finally.

"Did you lose anything back in the forest? Equipment, or provisions for your trip?"

"I never brought anything in the first place, Squirtle." He chuckled. "Finding food on the go has never been an issue for me. Besides," he stopped and raised his rounded forelimbs, waggling them for effect. "Bags, ropes, knots – they don't do me any good!" He continued walking along the path. "Most Pokémon don't carry any gear with them, Squirtle," he explained.

Squirtle kept his head up, but he no longer paid any attention to the road sides. His attention was held rapt by the Cyndaquil's words. Yet he was still careful to not make any exclamations of surprise that would draw Quil's attention. Squirtle didn't want Quil to see the depths of his amazement, and raise any suspicions of Squirtle's history.

Pokémon didn't bring anything with them when they traveled! Remarkable! To think that a Pokémon could find anything it needed along the way, no matter the distance or terrain, seemed impossible. Although, Pokémon were wild creatures. They did not require the luxuries that Squirtle was used to, like sleeping bags or any form of clothing. Pokémon were resilient and hardy. They did not succumb easily to the elements, and sickness was practically unheard of. This, Squirtle knew. Though he could not recall where or how he learned about Pokémon, he was pleased to find that his knowledge was not lacking in that topic. Now I'm learning more about Pokémon, firsthand, he thought. It's comforting to know that I'm not fragile on a dangerous trip like this.

Looking down, he considered his shell in a new light. He tapped various portions with a claw and listened to the short but pure notes of sound each tap produced. His shell was body armor and a musical instrument in one. Moving his gaze beyond his shell, he examined the blue skin he now wore. He tried pinching his arm between two claw tips, but the skin was not loose enough to allow even a tiny pinch. His skin was smooth as well as tight. No fur or scales gave it any texture.

His gait felt strange, since his legs were now shorter and farther apart. With every step he took, his toe-claws dug slightly into the ground to provide extra grip. As when he had reflexively dug in his claws to grip the monstrous root, Squirtle felt a tad disgusted when he thought about what his feet were doing. He tried not to think about how bestial and uncouth it was, and gradually became used to that aspect of his body.

Surprisingly, he had become accustomed to his tail in no time. Its presence felt natural, as if he'd had a strangely shaped tail extending out of the bottom of his shell for his whole life. He carried the tail just a few inches above the ground, and it curled further away from the ground along its length. Testing it now, Squirtle reckoned it was not as powerful as his other limbs, but it was still muscular and sturdy enough to do some damage if he ever used it as a club in a battle. He smiled foolishly as he drew circles in the air, trying out its range of motion. Thankfully, Quil wasn't looking behind them.

The short fur coating Quil's body consisted of two colors. On his underside, it shone the same milky color as Squirtle's belly scutes, but everywhere else the fur was a blue much darker than Squirtle's skin. If Squirtle's coloration was the sky at noon, Quil's was the night sky slightly brightened by a full moon. Quil's body was curiously shaped. His squat legs ended not in toes, but in a hard covering caught halfway between a hoof and a claw. Neither did Quil have any digits or claws on his forelimbs, but instead just a furry stub. His slender snout was tipped with two slits for nostrils.

Being on fire would alarm most Pokémon, but Quil appeared indifferent. Of course, he would be well used to it. Besides, having a back that spewed flames was far from being among the strangest or most alarming abilities of all the diverse Pokémon species. Looking closely, Squirtle could see four furless spots on Quil's back where the fire originated. The flames of each spot combined to form jagged spikes of fire that reached a good foot behind him. The Cyndaquil himself was only about a foot and a half tall, like Squirtle, so the flames were relatively far-reaching.

The eyes were what captivated Squirtle the most. Were they open? Quil could see just fine, so they had to be. But the area around the eyes was scrunched up! How could Quil see through all of the wrinkles? How could anyone? Squirtle wanted to know, badly, but he dared not ask his companion. He had a feeling that the Cyndaquil would have been asked countless times already. Quil's eyesight might well be an eternal mystery.

Squirtle's attention was drawn to a flicker of motion on the left. A Doduo was moving about on the grass near a rocky cliff drop. The left head kept nipping at the right head, while the right head tried to crane its neck out of reach. Both travelers noticed the wild Pokémon at the same time. Quickly, they scurried forward until the hilly landscape shielded them from view.

"Whew!" Quil exclaimed after a minute had passed. "Good thing the Doduo was distracted by...itself. Squirtle, you wouldn't happen to remember how Doduo can have two heads but one body, would you? How can they move? If one head wants to go one way, but the other head wants to go another way...?"

Squirtle tried to shrug, but found that he could not in his new form, so he said, "Sorry, I've got no answers. But try looking at it this way: you're on fire, but that's perfectly ordinary for you, right?"

Quil stopped and faced Squirtle. "What do you mean, 'that's perfectly ordinary for you'? Of course it is! Why would it be strange?"

Squirtle held his hands up defensively. "I just mean that Pokémon are many and diverse, and while Doduo having two heads makes no sense to us, the Doduo likely thinks it's the most normal thing in the world."

Quil seemed to eye Squirtle for a moment, but then continued his walk down the road with a sigh that Squirtle barely heard. "Mm, you're right, Squirtle."

Now Squirtle felt the mood was uncomfortable. "Quil, listen, I'm sorry if I ever come off as rude or tactless." But I've never been a Pokémon before! he yelled in his head. "I just can't remember what to say, or how to say it. For all I know, I've never spoken with a Cyndaquil before. Please forgive me if I ever say the wrong thing."

Quil took a moment to reply. "I understand. I have no right to be mad at you." He turned and gave what appeared to be a slight smile.

Even after apologizing, Squirtle felt lousy. He owed the Cyndaquil so much in the brief time he'd known him, and all he had done to return Quil's kindness was ply him with questions and unintentionally insult him. At this rate, Quil would probably choose loneliness and a solitary journey over having Squirtle as a companion. Squirtle's face took on a determined cast. He would return Quil's generosity. He did not want to feel guilty or embarrassed again, like when Quil chose to defend him in the forest instead of fleeing. With his mind set, Squirtle awaited an opportunity to pay Quil back.

The leftovers of the storm clouds thinned out, but still the sun did not show even a glimpse of its light. The day grew darker as the pair hiked down the road to Karprest. Two more times, they spotted wild Pokémon, but managed to avoid a confrontation. At one point, the path pointed directly at Karprest, and the pair caught a glimpse of roofs through the hilly terrain. Karprest was about a half mile away. Half a mile away is half a world away now that I'm just a little Squirtle. Then Karprest was hidden from view, and they pressed on.

The path led around a steep hill. When the path straightened out, the ground on the other side of the path sloped upward, becoming another hill. The dirt road narrowed. It would barely squeeze through the canyon before it opened up once more a couple hundred paces ahead. The narrow canyon was the third canyon they'd traversed on the path. It would have been no cause to worry, but this time the dirt path halfway through the canyon was covered in rocks blocking their way. The canyon walls were exposed rock, a common sight in the area. But the storm had rattled the area and dislodged all loose gravel and larger rocks. The walk was set to become a brief rock climbing experience. Most of the rocks were at least as large as the Cyndaquil and Squirtle.

Quil deflated with a groan. "Too much to ask for an easy trip to Karprest," he mumbled.

"Quil, you've made it all the way here in one piece, and you were alone. This is nothing to you! C'mon, let's just get it over with, eh?" Alright, maybe he went overboard with the enthusiasm.

Quil looked at him, then shook his head, laughing. "Lead on, O Fearless One!"

Squirtle flinched from the grating sound his claws made against the first of the fallen rocks. The quiet gloom of the canyon was exacerbated by the harsh sounds the Pokémon made as they scrambled over the rocks. Quil quickly went to all fours for more stability. His balance was thereby assured on the uneven and tilted surfaces he had to tread. Squirtle, on the other hand, maintained his upright posture. Inside he knew he should mimic Quil. His logical mind knew it, and his Squirtle body felt uncomfortable with his two-legged walking in this situation. Still, he did not give in.

I am the master of this body, and I know what is best. My...instincts, and the inclinations of this body I wear are not going to decide how I act. Not now, not ever.

The Cyndaquil did not make any comment, despite having to stop and wait every few seconds for the slower Squirtle to jump or step to the next rock. Maybe he thought it normal for the Squirtle species to stay on two feet on treacherous terrain. Squirtle knew otherwise, thanks to the apprehension he felt inside with every step. This is like making a turn on a bicycle without using the handlebars!

Halfway through the littered rocks and gravel, Squirtle lost his balance and slowly tipped over backwards toward the hard and angular rocks behind him. "Whoa!" he cried. He windmilled his arms, but it was too late.

"Squirtle!" called Quil, helpless to intervene.

Then he fell backwards. An unfamiliar urge compelled Squirtle to flex something inside. It was not a group of muscles he had ever used. He contracted, quicker than conscious thought.

Impact. His shell made a clatter that echoed against the canyon walls.

The world went dark. He could see nothing but blackness. No, there was some light, with blackness all around it. His field of vision had been significantly reduced. He could see an oval of dim gray light.

"Are you okay?"

Huh?

He was conscious. And not in pain. Still, his body felt strange, broken somehow. Like his head was pressed into his chest. His arms, legs and tail, too, were in a new position. Everything was pressed together, folded tightly into a small space.

Oh! Squirtle realized what had happened. He relaxed, releasing the tension of the muscles inside his shell. The light expanded, resolving into an image of the pebbles below the last jump he had made. At the same time, he felt his limbs and tail leave the slots in his shell.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he replied to the voice of Quil, who released a relieved sigh.

Squirtle determined he was facing earthward, and his shell was wedged between the two large rocks he had jumped between. No waggling or wiggling could move him. The two heavy rocks had him pinched in the front and back of his protective shell, suspending him a foot or two above the finer rocks that covered the path.

"Er, Quil, would you mind hoisting me up? I'm stuck."

"Oh, of course." Squirtle felt the Cyndaquil's furry forelimbs squeezing one of his ankles, then he was promptly pulled upward. With a new sort of scraping noise, his shell was released from the grasp of the rocks. He stood up on a flatter part of the rock.

"Thanks Quil."

"Please, don't mention it," he said, smiling. "I'm glad you're okay. Though, with a shell like that, I'd be surprised if you weren't."

Squirtle nodded in agreement. "My shell...my shell isn't scratched is it?" He felt silly, worrying about his looks, but felt a compulsion to ask nonetheless. His Squirtle's needs and desires were affecting his mind again. Frustration rose within him, but was then replaced with doubt and uncertainty.

Were they his instincts as a Squirtle that made him worry about how his shell looked? Or had his personality changed in his transformation? Maybe more than just the form he wore had been changed. Maybe he was giving his new body too much credit, and half of what he thought was due to becoming a Squirtle, was actually caused by his identity being remolded during the transformation. Like moist clay, his personality could have been remade.

"Nope, your shell is brown like al-...wait, no, there's actually a little scratch. It's a bit darker right...here." Squirtle felt a dull pressure as Quil traced a horizontal line across his back where he could not see. His sense of touch on his shell was faint and vague, so he could not tell exactly where Quil was pressing. He realized he wouldn't feel impacts and cuts nearly as much though, which far outweighed that negative.

"Alright, er...good to know," he said to Quil, who nodded.

With that, the pair continued the remainder of the way over the rocks. This time, Squirtle moved at about half his previous speed. He did not want to take another tumble. Although he knew that his shell was there for protection, and thus its purpose was to be banged up, he felt protective of it. Those feelings and his musings about self-identity occupied him until his claws safely touched down on the dirt path once more.

Quil shook himself and his fire flared higher for a second. "Hoo! I hope we're back to easy walking from here on, Squirtle." He fell into line behind Squirtle in the narrowness of the canyon. The opening out of the gloom was less than fifty steps ahead.

Squirtle allowed himself to relax. The one good thing about the enclosed canyon was its safety. They couldn't see any wild Pokémon from inside, and wild Pokémon couldn't see them.

A low growl emanated from the canyon's exit. Squirtle looked up sharply. There stood a Pokémon about the same size as Squirtle or Cyndaquil. Alternating brown and white striped fur covered its body up to its brown-furred face. A mask of black fur surrounded its eyes. Its jagged mouth was pulled back, revealing clenched fangs that shook with the beast's growl. Zigzagoon. Judging by its stance, the Pokémon had been crossing the path near the canyon's exit when it had looked inside and noticed the Cyndaquil and Squirtle.

Squirtle turned to check that Quil had heard the Zigzagoon, and watched Quil slowly lower himself to a battle-ready stance. Turning back, he swallowed.

From behind him, Quil said, "I don't like it, but we have no choice this time. We have to push forward Squirtle. We're going to have to fight that Zigzagoon."

"Can't we..." Squirtle's eyes swept rapidly around him, taking in nothing but the steep rocky walls of the canyon. "Let's go back. Cross the rocks."

The Zigzagoon's growl raised in pitch, and it hustled toward the pair. The look in its eyes spoke of determined violence. Squirtle could now see the dirty claws on each of its paws.

"Squirtle, I'm scared too! But this is what happens when you travel. I wish it was easier, trust me, I do. But this is how it is. Just...do what comes naturally, we'll be fine!" But Quil didn't sound very confident, and his voice was never loud to begin with. Squirtle was not inspired in the least.

The Zigzagoon was almost upon them. Here was a living, tangible beast that intended to hurt him, to physically knock him out. Squirtle's knees began to wobble. He felt unsteady.

He heard Quil shouting from behind him. "Squirtle, there's no room, I can't help you! Look out!"