Chapter 5

Motive

The heavy wooden door to the lodge had no conventional doorknob, but opened after Quil pushed against a certain panel of the wood. The doors in Karprest must have been designed for use by Pokémon having no hands with which to grip, thought Squirtle.

A cozy entrance room featuring a fireplace welcomed them within. Two canvas paintings with vivid, distinguished colors hung on the walls – one, a distant aerial view of Karprest on the banks of the meandering river, the other, a scene from the waterline of a little boat being tugged across the river via a rope from beneath the surface.

An elegant Swanna looked up from behind a counter, and greeted them warmly but softly. "Welcome to Karprest Lodge," she said. "Are you storm refugees as well?"

Again, Quil let Squirtle start the conversation. "Hello, yes and no. We're travelers, and we were already on the move when the storm hit. But we came here to spend the night in safety, indoors. Bein, the Cubone, mentioned that there would be no charges. Is that true?"

"Yes, Bein spoke truly. Ordinarily, this lodge sees wanderers, river-folk, migrating family groups, trekkers of all sorts. If you can name it, then I've seen it. Most stop here to use our famous ferry. Karprest is a popular place to cross the Karp River for water-averse Pokémon, you see. But today..."

The Swanna folded her wings so they took on a shape similar to hands on hips. She shook her head slowly. "Today is different. I've seen more fear and turmoil today than I have in the last decade. The least I could do to help the local wilders is open up my lodge for all. So enjoy it while you can!" she added, with a wink.

Quil let out a little cheer at that, and Squirtle shared the sentiment. "Great, thanks! Where may we sleep, Swanna?"

Squirtle felt a spike of uncertainty after calling the Swanna by her species name. Was it rude to assume someone would be fine with being called by their species name? Referring to a unique individual as merely one of a larger group would be a good reason for offense to be taken. But the bird Pokémon made no visible reaction at all to the possible affront to her individuality. Squirtle let out a held breath.

"I'll show you presently, but first... Cyndaquil, if it is at all possible, might you be able to put out your flames? My other guests may be woken up, or bothered by the additional light."

"Oh!" Quil squeaked. "Of course! I've only ever shared a burrow with my family. I didn't realize my flames could be an issue." He spoke with some concentration evident in his voice, and the flames dwindled in a stuttering, uneven progression. Without a trace of smoke, the last flames abruptly disappeared, leaving only the four furless spots, now ruddy and sizzling with lingering heat.

The Swanna bowed her head graciously, her long neck bending forward. "Thank you, Cyndaquil. If you do need to release the flames, by all means, please do so. I only wish for a comfortable sleeping environment for my guests, if it is convenient for all to provide it. Now, follow me if you would!"

She led the pair down a short corridor in the direction of the river. A dim torch here and there helped to light the way in the absence of Quil's light.

Squirtle focused his vision on the shadowy patches of the corridor. He had learned that his hearing as a Squirtle was about the same as it had always been, but he did not yet know all of his other capabilities. To his dismay, he found that his vision in dim light was poor as it always was. The shadows remained shadows. Though, he knew he should be grateful; some Pokémon didn't even have eyes. And maybe Quil couldn't see as well as him, with only those little wrinkles.

The Swanna stopped at a large archway that opened up into a suitably large room. Whispering, she told them, "Here are the public accommodations. I apologize that they are, of course, quite crowded tonight. Feel free to sleep in as long as you need." The Swanna returned to the entrance, recognizing the speechless state of her two newest guests.

Pokémon. So many Pokémon. Squirtle stood wide-eyed at both the diversity and number of Pokémon in the room. Oddish and a Gloom, Vulpix, Lotad and Lombre, Tranquill, Pidgey, and Swellow, and of course plenty of Rattata. A Raticate slumbered beneath a pile of the Rattata, and a Snivy was curled around a Seedot. The Flying-types were clustered together for the most part, as if the most bizarre flock ever formed had landed here for the night. Other than those, most of the Pokémon were Water or Grass-types, at least partially.

Only a handful of Pokémon were awake. Those that were whispered quietly amongst themselves, or relaxed with their eyes open. They paid the Squirtle and Cyndaquil no mind, following a few spare glances. The rest of the Pokémon, the sleeping ones, collectively emitted a cacophony of snores. There were high-pitched squeaks, dull rumbles, loud, soft, and everything in between. The sleeping Pokémon were packed together, draped over each or curled around each other in most cases. One Pokémon's tail was another's blanket. The larger Pokémon were pillows for the smaller ones.

Squirtle finally closed his mouth, and thought, What about personal space? These Pokémon don't know each other, they're just refugees from the wild. How can they sleep peacefully knowing they're surrounded by strangers?

Quil nudged his shell. "Look at that! It must connect to the river!"

Again, Squirtle was surprised by the sight. In a smaller room connected to the main one by another large archway, a pool of water shimmered in the gentle torchlight. The roof sloped downward until it was swallowed by the pool. What looked like fine nets stretched across half of the pool. The nets were situated in tiers, with some nets stretched taut at the surface of the pool where the water met the wooden floor, and more nets deeper below the surface. Each had a different set distance from the water's surface.

The nets were heavily occupied by sleeping Pokémon, just like the dry floor. Squirtle was surprised to see that over half of the occupants were Magikarp. Their mouths gaped open, as always, as they rested upon the nets. Some of them had chosen to sleep on a level that left their bodies halfway submerged, but Squirtle figured that there were likely more even deeper in the water where he could not see.

As he studied the water, guessing at what Water Pokémon might be sleeping there, Squirtle felt a new feeling bubble up from within his chest. A giddy excitement combined with a yearning to enter the water steadily rose the longer he watched. The dark water seemed so inviting, after all this time spent walking about on land. He belonged in the water, as a Squirtle, of course. He could easily slip in and feel the water all around him, embracing him, washing off the dust, supporting him as he relaxed.

"Where do you wanna lay down, Squirtle?" Quil whispered as he looked around the room. "How about next to that Furret? Or, did you want to take a spot in the water?"

Squirtle took a step backward, away from the pool. He found his mouth was open, taking quick and small breaths. No, he thought with passion. I would do what comes naturally as a Squirtle during a battle, sure. But I will not choose water over dry land because of these Squirtle instincts.

"No, not the water. I'll be sleeping on land, thanks."

Quil was taken aback at Squirtle's rather intense tone of voice. "Squirtle? Is something wrong?"

Squirtle grimaced, and wondered if he should start a tally of how many times he had sounded kooky to Quil. At least the excuse he had manufactured was reasonable: he could not 'remember' how to behave like a Squirtle. "No, sorry, I'm fine." He tried to breathe more naturally, with limited success. "Sure, by the Furret seems good."

Quil nodded, and began inching his way into the crowd of sleeping Pokémon. Quil evidently had no reservations about surrounding himself with strangers. Likely he was quite tired, like the rest of the storm refugees, and ready to sleep a good while. Though there was enough room, his intended spot would leave the two in contact with at least a couple of other Pokémon. Pokémon who could be vicious if encountered in the wild. Pokémon whom they might have to fight in the coming days, when passing through their territory, or near their families. Quil and Squirtle may not have had any possessions to steal, but they were going to sleep next to these unknown Pokémon, entrust their safety to these Pokémon.

"Quil...wait."

The Cyndaquil stopped between the Snivy and a Foongus, turning back to Squirtle.

"I..." His breaths were still coming light and fast as his mind raced. Even while his reason rebelled at leaving himself defenseless and asleep amid these strangers, he could feel no uneasiness coming from within. He experienced no natural reaction against following Quil and resting in a cluster of strangers. His bewildered state came from the conflict, the indecision. Thoughts or feelings? Reason or instinct?

Curse these instincts, if that's what they are! This day has been battle after battle between what I know in my head to be correct, and what this Squirtle feels so strongly inside. I just don't know what to feel, how to think! Should I resist it, and hold onto my reasoning? Do I surrender to my new feelings, and hope they don't get me into trouble?

Squirtle's eyes darted left and right as Quil watched, doubtless not understanding what could possibly be alarming in this scene of peace and safety.

I am a Pokémon now, so I should probably do what comes naturally to me, but there's no way I'm going to fall into the habit of not thinking. I can't forget about logic, or reasoning my way through situations. I can't! I won't be a mindless beast!

"Quil, I..." He swallowed. "I can't sleep here. I'm sorry. I don't know what to do, I can't... I don't know how to be myself anymore!" His cracked whisper became a low but urgent voice. A couple of the Pokémon near him rolled around in their sleep, becoming upset by the noise.

Overwhelmed, Squirtle escaped the situation. He retreated back down the corridor, ignoring the distressed whispers of Quil at his back. His light footfalls on the old wooden floorboards escalated to the pounding of a run. He pulled open the lodge's front door and burst out into the night. As the door swung shut, Squirtle could hear Quil floundering as he tried to explain to Swanna what had upset Squirtle so much. Quil didn't know what to say.

"Squirtle..." Quil began hesitantly. He stood a couple of steps away from Squirtle, outside of Swanna's lodge. "How can I help?"

Squirtle made no response. He remained lying on the ground, eyes shut tight. Every so often his arms and legs would twitch as he fought to keep them outside of his shell. He had quickly discovered that in his confusion and fear, he wanted to withdraw his head and limbs to hide within his shell. Succumbing to that need would be succumbing to his instincts, and Squirtle wasn't sure he wanted to travel any further down that road. So he lay on the dirt, limbs splayed out and quivering.

"Squirtle, I won't pretend that I know what you're going through, because I don't. I just want to know how I can help you."

Squirtle said nothing. He could say nothing because he could explain nothing. The only way for the Cyndaquil to understand his inner turmoil would be for Squirtle to reveal his secret. However, Squirtle had no idea how his kind were viewed by Pokémon around here. The secret could anger, confuse, or scare Quil. Any one of those reactions could result in Quil leaving him. Any one of those reactions could leave Squirtle alone in the world. No, Squirtle could not afford to explain.

As Quil stood next to him, undoubtedly worrying over his distress, Squirtle felt profoundly alone.

"Please, Squirtle, just let me in!"

"I can't." He opened his eyes to peer up at Quil. Tiny beads of water slid down his cheeks.

"Oh, Squirtle." Quil drew back and pity blossomed on his face. "Why not? Why can't you tell me what's wrong?"

Squirtle closed his eyes again. "I...don't know what to say. I just can't. I'm sorry."

The urges to withdraw into his shell had faded away, now that he was speaking to Quil. The conversation had to continue, not only to stop the urges, but to give some measure of understanding to Quil. Squirtle could not just brush this incident off and continue on like nothing had happened.

He drew in a shuddering breath, and got to his feet. "You could say I'm having problems dealing with these Pokémon, the world...everything!" He spread his arms wide. "Everything I see is new to me, because I can't remember anything. This is something I have to deal with on my own. I just need to relearn how the world works. I'll be sure to ask you questions, Quil, but other than that, I don't think there's any way you can help me." While it was not the whole truth, it was not a lie either.

Quil tilted his head thoughtfully. "I think I get it, but I still don't understand one thing. When we were in the lodge, and you were about to follow me to the spot by the sleeping Furret, why did you..." He made a nervous, tentative gesture with both forelimbs. "You know. Leave? What is upsetting about going to sleep?"

Squirtle turned away. "It's difficult to explain." Guilt constricted his chest for being dishonest and misleading to Quil. He found he could not look Quil in the eyes.

And Quil seemed to realize that. Quil sighed in his little voice. "Okay Squirtle, fine. You don't have to tell me. But I want you to know that I want to help you however I can. I've got to keep you happy and healthy. And you've got to do the same for me, right?" A small smile settled on his face. "We're traveling partners now!"

Squirtle could not return the smile. He said, "I'll do my best Quil. I'm so sorry that I'm the one traveling with you. You don't deserve this. I'm no Pokémon."

Quil replied hastily, clearly unaware of the true meaning and depth of Squirtle's remark. "Don't say that, Squirtle! Waking up with no memories wouldn't be easy for anyone! You know that! I'm glad I stumbled upon you and have the chance to help you figure out where you came from and where you're going. And, er, you get the honor of traveling in my presence, eh?"

Squirtle laughed, a single, hollow noise. "Right. But if you're dead-set on helping me out, then I'm sorry to tell you that I can't sleep in the lodge." A decent excuse popped into his head. "Basically, there's too many Pokémon in there."

"Oh, is that why? Well, I was excited to experience sleeping in a...what did Bein call it? A 'great, big, communal burrow'? But we've been inside and seen it, so that's good enough for me! Let's find a cozy spot outside, maybe by the roots of one of those trees we saw." He stood tall and looked around at the trees in the darkness.

Sleep outside? Squirtle could not recall if he had ever slept outdoors, but he felt anxious considering it. He pictured Quil and himself settling down by a tree, surrounded by darkness and distant from the bright braziers of the city. The image was not comforting. Yet what alternative was there? Squirtle could not bring himself to rest in the lodge. The conflict he felt between mind and body in there was too intense for him to be able to stay, let alone sleep. So what could they do?

Squirtle's eyes slowly widened as an idea took root.

"Quil, I would prefer to not sleep outside either," said Squirtle earnestly. "I know that seems to leave us with no options, but I just thought of one more place we may be able to go."

The door swung smoothly and silently inwards, suggesting well-oiled hinges. A familiar Cubone stood in the darkness of the room, gazing blearily at the Squirtle and Cyndaquil on his doorstep.

"Eh? Squirtle and...Quil, right? What're you doing here?" He blinked hard twice. "What do you need?"

Frowning, Squirtle said, "I'm sorry Bein, we thought you may not have gone to bed yet. I suppose we were wrong," he finished quietly.

Bein continued to stare at him.

Squirtle was sure to use his hands as much as possible to exaggerate the situation. "The lodge is amazing, like you said. Very comfortable. The thing is, it's really, really crowded. Quil and I would barely be able to squeeze into an empty space." He swallowed nervously as he reached his request. "We thought since you were so kind in welcoming us and showing us to the lodge, that we may be able to spend the night here. Just one night. We'll be off of your hands in the morning. Would that be okay?

Bein continued staring, with one hand gripping the open door and the other on the door frame. Quil's fire, newly reignited, burned quietly where he stood beside Squirtle, who looked to Bein with polite and hopeful eyes. Well, eye-wrinkles. The flames were the only sound for a few seconds. The Cubone glanced at Quil once or twice, and seemed to be sizing him up, but reserved most of his attention for Squirtle for some reason.

Just as Squirtle's manners finally urged him to apologize and walk away, Bein said one, casual word:

"Sure."

Squirtle smiled brightly. When he glanced to his left, Quil returned the look, seeming happy for him. The pair entered Bein's home as he stood aside to allow them in. The interior fell into almost total darkness when Bein closed the door. Were it not for the soft glow and hiss of Quil's fire, the room would be like a tomb.

"I don't keep candles or torches. Lucky you brought fire." Bein grunted a single chuckle. "Make yourself comfortable and all that. I'm going back to bed. It's here."

Cautiously, Squirtle followed the Cubone after allowing Quil to pass him for better illumination. The house was small, and Squirtle counted three rooms. Unlike the lodge, there was no floor, only dirt packed by the pounding of countless footsteps. A couple of rolled-up carpets rested vertically against a wall though. Squirtle also spotted what looked to be a huge rack of various tools. The rack covered most of the wall upon which it hung.

Bein led them to a bowl-shaped depression in the dirt. He started to clamber in, then seemed to remember something, as he turned to a wooden chest and hoisted out a blanket of natural greens and yellows. Bein tossed the blanket to them, which turned out to be made of the same grasses that lined the river. The texture was a tad rough, but kept heat in well enough.

Bein settled down in the bowl without further ado, and even covered himself partly in the loose dirt. "Don't like the blanket. Irritates my skin. No surprise there – I'm a Grounder. But the last inhabitants of the house used it and I don't like to throw away anything that works. G'night."

Quil began to haul the blanket into the bowl and lay down, but Squirtle resisted, indicating with silent gesturing that the bowl was too small to avoid the blanket touching Bein. Quil made as if to leave the blanket behind, and gestured for Squirtle to join him in the bowl with Bein, but Squirtle felt that it would be rude to reject the Cubone's hospitality by leaving the blanket discarded at the edge. He frowned, pondering the dilemma that the Cubone had inadvertently placed them in. Quil seemed to understand too, but clearly wanted to get to sleep as soon as he could.

Tugging the blanket over to the wall away from the bowl, Quil silently suggested that they could sleep there. Squirtle nodded, and pulled the blanket over them after Quil had slowly extinguished his flames. The night was chilly, but Squirtle had noticed that temperature was far less important as a Pokémon. He certainly felt the cold, but the sensations did not much bother him. The heat from the braziers they passed in the city had likewise not much affected his comfort. Nonetheless, the blanket was still welcome, since a temperature neither cold nor hot was ultimately the most comfortable.

After some shifting around to settle in, Quil lay with his length from belly to chin resting on the ground. Squirtle could not remember ever seeing a Squirtle sleeping, so he tried out various positions. He quickly found that due to the shape and rigidity of his shell, the only two viable positions were on his belly and on his back. Laying on his back made him feel helpless and vulnerable, leaving only one option. Squirtle lay on his belly. He supposed he should be relieved that for the rest of his time as a Squirtle, however long that may be, he would not have to worry about the easiest position to fall asleep in, as he had no choice.

"You comfortable, Squirtle?" Quil asked quietly.

"Yes, I'm fine. Are you?"

"Oh, yeah. Have a good rest, okay?"

"Okay. Good night, Quil."

"Good night, Squirtle!"

Squirtle's eyes were drawn to the only window in the house, which happened to be in that room. The night sky and its twinkling pinpoints of light were visible. At least in the portion of sky that Squirtle could see, the clouds of the storm had finally dispersed. That was good. The storm had negatively impacted many wilderness-dwelling Pokémon and caused a measure of unrest in Karprest. The storm was now a mere memory, thankfully.

Squirtle was not particularly tired. And this being his first night in this new world, he resigned himself to a long night of piecing together what he knew. The question of utmost importance being, of course: Who am I? Related to this were other questions: Why was I transformed into a Pokémon? Why did I lose my memories? Can I get them back? What should I do? Do I just live out this new life however I'd like, as if I were always this Squirtle?

That path of thought did not sit well with him. Being transformed into a Squirtle, one of the few facts he absolutely knew, was a monumental event. Such an event was no accident, or quirk of fate. It was significant. But why, how, where? Perhaps more importantly, who? If there was a person, being, force, or whatever responsible for his transformation, that entity would have all the facts. That entity would be able to answer all the questions he could ever think of in regards to his history and purpose.

How in the world was he going to find the source of his transformation? The only clue he could think of was his location when he awoke: the foot of a tall tree in the depths of a wood called Root Forest. The fact that the clearing was completely ordinary was no help at all to him. However, the timing was curious. He had awoken during the peak of an unprecedented thunderstorm. A storm that had swept the region with dry winds and powerful lightning bolts. That was no coincidence. Squirtle could assume that his transformation happened a short time before he was found by Quil, or he would have been bothered and awoken by some other Pokémon before long. Therefore his transformation and the storm were linked. They had to be.

If he could only remember what he had been doing! If he could trigger a single memory of his time before the storm, he would probably be able to determine much of who he was. Maybe he could even remember how and why he was turned into a Pokémon. Yet the memories were not on the tip of his metaphorical tongue. They were not just out of reach, begging for a trigger. Squirtle felt as if they were secured in his mind's depths under lock and key. Nothing he had hitherto experienced even suggested a flash of a specific memory from his past. Regardless, what he fundamentally needed was memory. A way to delve into his mind, and pluck out his memories, if they were there at all.

Squirtle spoke out quietly, unable to contain his excitement at his idea. "Quil! Oh, are you awake?"

"I'm awake, barely."

"Hm, I thought you would be eager to sleep. You've been on the move all day, haven't you?"

Quil shifted slightly in the darkness. He sounded like he was now facing Squirtle. "Well, I had a feeling you would be up for quite a while. And I said I could stay awake if you wanted to talk. So what did you want to discuss, Squirtle?"

Squirtle was rendered speechless for a moment by Quil's unabashed selflessness. He had stayed awake through his weariness just in case Squirtle wanted to talk. Quil waited patiently in the silence. Then Squirtle jumped straight to the point to try to curtail his embarrassment. "Are there any Pokémon that can read minds? Maybe certain abilities or attacks that can see into a Pokémon's past, or observe their memories?"

"Good idea, I see why you would want to know! Let me think." He lapsed into silence for a few seconds. "I bet Psychic Pokémon are what you're looking for. Ghosts, Shadows, and Psychics have the most, er, strange abilities."

"Shadows?" asked Squirtle, though he had a strong suspicion.

"Oh, that means Pokémon with Dark abilities," Quil replied. "Anyway, I used to hear stories about the crafty talents of Psychics. They can see the past and the future as easily as they can see what's right in front of them. They can lift you up, or freeze you in place instead, all with their mind! They can put words into your head – speak without opening their mouths! Or look at what dreams you're having as you sleep. One story even had a character that could teleport – disappear, and reappear somewhere far away!"

While parts of Quil's descriptions rang of truth, Squirtle was still skeptical. "Psychic Pokémon can do all of that? Don't get me wrong; it would set my mind at ease if they could, because then they would surely be able to help me, but those abilities sound way too powerful to be real."

In the quiet room, Quil timidly replied, "I've never met a Psychic, I'll admit that. No Psychics lived in the Steppe near my family. But the stories I heard were never totally made up! The stories we shared were always based off real Pokémon, or things that actually happened. So I think that if any Pokémon can help you figure out what happened to you, it's the Psychics."

Squirtle considered. Between Quil's stories and his own hidden memories' vague suggestions of what was truth, Squirtle had little solid knowledge at his disposal. He needed more.

"Are you in a rush to continue on your journey tomorrow, Quil? I'd like to spend some time asking around town about Psychics. Maybe one lives here who can help me, right?"

Quil spoke around a mouth-stretching yawn. "Yeah, there's a chance! Psychics are one of the more uncommon Types, though. I'm not in any big hurry to keep going, so let's take all the time you need."

"Great. By the way, can you tell me more about your journey? Since you're not in a rush, I'm curious about where you're going and why."

Quil shifted, his fur whispering along the blanket. When he spoke, his typically enthusiastic voice was melancholic. "I've been sent on 'The Pilgrimage', as my father calls it. A long journey far from our home in Steady Steppe, all the way to a volcano. Yes, a volcano," he repeated, when Squirtle made a surprised noise. "According to the older 'mon in Steady Steppe, the locals call the volcano... Iyrodenin."

"Eye – ro – den – in?"

"I think that's how you pronounce it. I always got it wrong. Anyway, every Cyndaquil travels to Iyrodenin to become stronger, and hopefully, to evolve into a Quilava. There's something special about...Iyrodenin that empowers Cyndaquil." A note of bitterness entered his voice. "I don't know what it is, but my parents told me I will understand once I see it for myself. That this whole journey will make sense if I can just make it to Iyrodenin. So that's what I have to do."

Squirtle thought he could understand why Quil was sour about the journey. To be told by your family that you had to leave your home must be difficult, but to set off alone towards lands you'd never seen, on top of that? Squirtle doubted he would have the courage to leave as Quil did.

"I suppose you weren't given a choice in the matter, were you?"

"No, no I wasn't. And this journey's not as easy as lighting a campfire. You've seen for yourself some of the reasons why, right Squirtle?" He sighed. "But my older brother did it, and my parents did it a long time ago. Every Cyndaquil goes. I've got no reason to complain. I just wish... ugh, never mind. I shouldn't complain."

Squirtle urged him on. "You just wish what, Quil? I'm going with you, so I want to understand."

Quil sighed again, softly. "I just wish there was no need for this journey. Why do we Cyndaquil have to go? Why the need to become stronger? Of course, I understand why it's important to evolve, and become more powerful, hone your attacks. You can't spend your whole life as a weak Cyndaquil, and then be able to care for and protect your family, or stand out in whatever you choose to do with your life. What I mean is there shouldn't have to be this huge journey. We should be able to live our lives, uninterrupted, and end up as we're supposed to be. It'd be easier for everyone that way, I think. Does that make sense?"

"That depends; do other Pokémon have journeys like yours?"

"I'm sure some do, yeah. I've heard of a couple of rituals that other Pokémon have, but they aren't journeys. I had a friend named Shawkers, and she was a Stunky. Her family said that one day, she would be able to pick a spot, make a circle a hundred steps away from the spot using that gross smell she carries, and no Pokémon would be bold enough to enter the circle for a full day. When that day arrived, she would be powerful enough to evolve into a Skuntank."

Squirtle made a face, even though Quil wouldn't be able to see it in the darkness. What a foul trial that would be.

"You're right, Quil, this trial you have to go through does sound intense. Especially if you compare it to what your friend had to do – just spray a big circle and wait, basically."

Quil whispered, "Painless, right?" by way of agreement.

"But my point is that you will end up stronger for all of this," Squirtle continued. "From the impressions I'm receiving from my memory, Quilava and especially Typhlosion are some of the strongest Fire Pokémon around, correct?"

"Correct," Quil murmured. There was no pride in his voice, only reluctance for allowing Squirtle to finish an argument that he did not want to hear.

"So, if you can make it to...Iyo...whatever, then you'll have the world at your fingertips!" Squirtle felt smug, confident that his words would cheer up Quil, if only a little bit.

"I don't have fingertips," Quil replied humorlessly.

"Oh, you know what I mean."

Quil was quiet. Squirtle took this to mean that he was thinking and would soon reply, according to the past few hours of conversation with the Cyndaquil. Squirtle turned his head to gaze through the window and out to the stars. And still, there was not a cloud in sight. Tomorrow was sure to be a beautiful day. He wondered how the direct sunlight would feel on his skin, his shell.

Smiling, he noted how his own mood had taken a turn for the jolly as a result of his positive thinking on Quil's behalf. Curious, how by focusing on another's pain and trying to shine a more hopeful light on it, he could forget his own worries, to the point of feeling content with his lot.

"I see your point, Squirtle," Quil said. "Becoming more powerful and more confident in my abilities will be...pleasant. My life will probably be easier after this, too. But I still wish it didn't have to be this way. I don't see a reason why I should become more powerful. I'd be fine staying the way I am, the way I've been living up until now. I don't have grand aspirations that require me to be the biggest, baddest Quilava around." Quil sighed, for the third time. "So this journey irks me. But hey, you're here with me now. That's one positive. I hope it gets better and better from here on."

Squirtle laughed quietly, pleased that he had succeeded in getting Quil to look up. "That's the spirit, Quil!"

"Mm," Quil hummed. Not content, but an improvement over before.

Squirtle wanted to continue the conversation in order to learn more about Quil and this world of Pokémon. He explored the mental list of questions and concerns he had been keeping track of on the way to Karprest, checking them off as he went. He knew he was forgetting at least a couple, but his understanding of the world around him had measurably improved since the afternoon when he had awoken. There were yet a few questions that Squirtle could recall and wanted to ask, but they were suspicious. No Pokémon would ask a question like 'Can all Pokémon talk?' That was a query only an outsider like himself would pose. Behaving like an alien by asking weird questions was the last thing Squirtle wanted to do in front of Quil. Perhaps later on, once he had earned more leeway, he could ask his questions, and once again bring up his supposed 'forgotten past as a Squirtle' as his excuse.

"Thanks, Squirtle," Quil said softly, out of the blue. "For cheering me up."

Squirtle felt his cheeks warming as embarrassment flushed through him, just as it had in the forest. Quil's gratitude made him feel a unique mix of guilt and bashfulness. All he'd done was speak half-empty words of consolation, he didn't deserve Quil's thanks! This time, however, he felt like his reaction was not as dramatic. Was he simply becoming more used to Quil, or maybe more accustomed to gratitude?

"Ah, it's nothing. I should be thanking you for staying awake and talking to me. This is, after all, the first night I can remember experiencing. I'm very glad I wasn't alone in a ditch somewhere for it."

Quil made no sound, but Squirtle imagined he was smiling in that Cyndaquil way of his. Squirtle returned the smile.

"Good night, Quil."

Sleep eluded Squirtle. Inevitably, he tossed and turned, but concluded that on his belly, the front of his shell, was truly the only position he would ever be able to sleep in. On one hand, not being able to sleep allowed him some quality thinking time. On the other hand, his questions had no answers. He was lost. What point was there in pondering and puzzling when the solutions would never come?

What are my current goals? Having something to strive for was important. That was clear in his mind. But was that the Squirtle talking, or his past self? Mentally flinching, he ignored that last thought to worry about sometime in the future. After a minute of pondering, he solidified his two step plan.

Step One: Remember who you were and what happened to you.

Step Two: Use that information to create new goals.

There, simple. The hard part would be completing Step One. As they had discussed, Squirtle would spend tomorrow trying to find someone in Karprest who had Psychic capabilities, or at least someone who knew a Pokémon with Psychic capabilities. Maybe he would be lucky and learn about some famous Psychic who helped people like him. No, that was his imagination concocting fanciful scenarios that would never occur.

After gathering information, though, what was Squirtle to do? Was he just going to play companion to Quil, a traveling Cyndaquil who had no capacity to solve Squirtle's troubles? Squirtle had already concluded that he was here for a significant reason. People didn't turn into Pokémon every day. Squirtle imagined he had an excuse, no, a duty to himself to devote his efforts to discovering who he was and his purpose in being here, if there was one.

And who knew? It could be that the duty was not to himself, but to someone else – Pokémon or not. He could be in this situation in order to help someone. Or to help everyone else – to save the world! Nope, there was the fanciful imagination again. A positive sign: his mind must be falling asleep.

Therefore, leaving Quil, if the situation demanded, was the best course of action. Squirtle frowned. Leaving Quil would be...difficult. Oddly enough, he found that the logical course of action was one that upset him. It upset his Pokémon aspect, actually. But that was part of him, wasn't it? He was a Pokémon now, or becoming one. Learning to be one. His situation was confusing. The rational and cool-headed decision would always be the best one, but his highest moment thus far had been when he had forgotten himself and behaved like a feral Squirtle. 'Given into his instincts,' as Quil would say. The conflict was one that merited much more thought.

At last, Squirtle felt scattered enough to accept the embrace of sleep. Still, questions bounced around in his head. Why am I here? What was the reason? Without the answer, he felt purposeless. Nothing he was doing mattered if it didn't match up with the reason for his presence here. Where did I come from? Was it somewhere beautiful and natural, or a metropolis of technology and progress? Did I have a family, a home? Who was I? Someone who worked with Pokémon, or had studied them. He knew enough factual knowledge about Pokémon to be sure that in his previous life he had associated with the creatures somehow. Why am I here? A reason, he needed a reason. Somewhere, there was a reason. Was the storm a coincidence? No, it could not have been. They all said how brutal the storm was, so it was no typical weather pattern. How long do Pokémon live? They must live long enough to see a fair share of storms. Then no, it wasn't a coincidence. He entered this world during this unprecedented storm.

Should I stick with Quil? He would like to, he knew. He would like to. But sometimes you walk a certain path when you'd rather be elsewhere. They both knew that. What will the volcano be like? Huge, massive, monstrous. Like the silhouette of the biggest mountain ever, but it could only be seen through a thick, smoky haze that comes from its peak. It would probably have a red tinge from the lava and fire. Why am I here? Was he important? Or was it an accident?

Will Bein be friendly in the morning? They had put him in a tough situation by showing up at his door after nightfall. Why am I here? There was no answer. An empty space that needed to be filled.

Why am I here? The question gnawed at his insides, bringing pain.

Why...am I...here?

Why...why...

His furrowed brow relaxed only once sleep had taken him.