Good Hunting Chapter 2

You, seekers of strength. Seekers of glory and wealth, one and all,

Seek no further.

For all our lofty achievements fall short

Of the slightest human accomplishment.

Let no beast think itself akin to them.

For pride is the root of all evil.

The Book of Humanity, Verse 27

Darow was a proud bird. He was unapologetic, unflustered by derision, and fundamentally unforgiving. He was proud of how proud he was and went to great lengths to make this clear, especially to those just as proud as him.

Darow did not like that sly Marowack. He knew it from the moment their eyes first met; a blossoming enmity if ever he saw one. It would bring him no end of satisfaction, Darow was sure, to push and prod with his words. To question every inch of the aeronaut's worldview. For someone like Corrin, that would be all it would take.

Darow was faithless. He knew better, or so he liked to tell himself.

This world was overflowing with faith. Churches and cults, fellowships, and fraternities; they were everywhere. Darow was convinced it had something to do with the Pokemon themselves. For all their differences, they were all tainted by a crippling insecurity. A need for external validation.

Well, most of them anyway. A few Pokemon were self-aware enough to call themselves free, Pokemon like Darow and Ossawa. Oh, Ossawa, that captain of solid stock. That bastion of sense in a world gone mad. Darow counted himself lucky to have found such a brilliant captain.

The morning dew had settled when that same captain made her first appearance for the day. Bleary-eyed, she glanced up to Darow who, as always, was perched diligently upon the top deck railing.

"Good morning," she greeted him with all the cheeriness she could muster. Unlike Darow, Ossawa had never been an early bird.

In this moment, while the rest of the crew and much of Precipice remained asleep, it seemed as if the world held its breath. The bright white dawn was raw and unfiltered. As he often did, Darow felt a certain early-morning giddiness wash over him. It came with a burst of clear-headed confidence.

"If I should be so bold," he replied, "this new aeronaut strikes me the wrong way. We'd be best off dumping him at the Divide if you ask me."

Ossawa cocked her head slightly. "Why on earth would you think that? We've just met the fellow."

"Exactly. How can we trust him? Besides, there's something about him I don't like."

He could tell the captain's patience was beginning to wear thin. She waited patiently for the owl to elaborate, which only made Darow uncomfortable. If there was anyone in the world that could burst Darow's bubble, it was Ossawa.

"His eyes," the Noctowl said eventually, "they're the eyes of a zealot. I don't like them."

"Well now, that's hardly fair," Ossawa replied, "whether you like it or not, most people in this world are more inclined to faith in some god or cause than to… well, whatever you believe in."

This puzzled Darow. "I don't believe in anything."

"Well, you put a lot of effort into believing you don't believe in anything, then," Ossawa huffed, "even I'm technically still part of the Church of Bidoof. May-His-name-be-praised."

"You were drunk!"

The captain smiled. "Well maybe I've come to appreciate the sentiments of the faith. Besides, I have it on very good authority that this new aeronaut is worth giving a chance. Don't you trust me?"

This made Darow squirm. "Yes," he said reluctantly, "I trust you."

"Let that be the end of it then. Now, haven't we got a balloon to prepare?"

Indeed, they did. Already a fierce wind was picking up, as if fleeing from the rising sun. That wind needed to be caught if they wanted a good start to the long journey southwards.

Before long the rest of the crew were awake and tending to the craft. Rigging needed to be secured; the burner needed lighting. With a small but sudden flap of his wings Darow took flight and performed a gentle loop around the Dragalge.

As well as being the first mate, Darow also served as the wings of the Dragalge. Every ship needed a bird or two in the skies for pathfinding through rough air banks or even helping pull the balloon if the winds died.

The sky above was clear, but cold. There were no clouds in sight, but something told Darow that a storm was brewing. It was a mounting pressure in the air, one that was almost undetectable, but unmistakable for a bird like him. He began gliding his way back down to the top deck to report his findings.

As he began his descent, he noticed that the balloon was a buzz of activity, but none were more active than the Marowak. A new vigour had energised the sultry lizard, animating his body as he lit a fire beneath the deck's central brazier. He called out to Darow before the owl landed:

"How are the winds?"

"Strong and southward," Darow replied instinctually. For a moment the awkwardness between them from the day before was forgotten and replaced with practiced efficiency.

With a raised hand, Corrin gestured to Kiwi for help. She quickly hauled a mighty set of leather bellows out from under one of the wooden shelters and, holding a handle each, she and Corrin began pumping air into the growing blaze within the brazier at the centre of the deck. A great column of heated air was soon rising towards the grey sky.

"Help us hoist the canvas," Corrin called over to Darow, "we need to catch the updraft."

The owl was already on the task. Taking the drooped balloon canvas in his hardy talons, Darow began slowly but surely lifting the sheet up to its full height. It strained his wings beyond belief, but eventually Darow felt the updraft from the fire below begin to fill the balloon until it had filled out with warm air. When he released the canvas Darow realised that the Dragalge was starting to rise.

Thankfully Ossawa had already taken up a position on the boardwalk above the balloon as it began to support its own weight in the air. With a shared glance and a nod between Darow and herself, the captain began untying the ropes that moored the Dragalge to Precipice.

"Could you give me a wing, Darow?" She called over to her first mate. It was only then that Darow remembered that not all of them could fly, and Ossawa was at risk of being left behind.

The Dragalge's ascent was only getting faster. The balloon's canvass was fully taut at this point and, filled with hot air, was rapidly pulling the Dragalge up and away. Swooping down, Darow latched onto the captain's paws as tightly as he could before, with a mighty beat of his wings, carried her over to the top deck just before it rose out of their reach. The captain was heavier than she looked. Darow quickly released his talons before perching once again on the railing, his body trembling from exertion.

Landing with surprising grace for having just been dropped, captain Ossawa surveyed her crew as the Dragalge shot up towards the clouds. Even now they were just cresting the top of Precipice with the docks below rapidly shrinking from sight.

"Well done everyone," she said with a smile. "You really put the dreamwork in the teamwork."

The rest of the crew looked just as exhausted as Darow. All except for Corrin, who was still buzzing with that strange energy from earlier. He bowed his masked head.

"Thank-you captain."

Not wanting to be left out, Darow cleared his throat with a muffled squawk. "I surveyed the air, captain. There's a storm coming," he said, trying to sound just as – twice as – professional as the Marowak.

Ossawa furrowed her brow, before looking out to the alabaster sky. With not a cloud to be seen the horizon stretched out before them like the tepid bathwater of some forgetful god.

"Well, if you say so," the captain replied, "looks calm to me. Mind you, I hoped for a bit of blue sky for once."

"You won't see a cloud from here to the Divide," Corrin interjected, "trust me, I'm a professional."

"So am I," the owl protested, narrowing his eyes, "a storm is coming."

And yet, despite Darow's insistence, the sky remained stubbornly empty for the next few hours. As the four of them tended to the careful work of navigating a balloon, the world around them quickly dissolved into a canvas of mottled grey fog banks and tired streaks of sunlight.

Well, three of the crew helped around the deck. Ossawa soon retreated to her cabin with the excuse that she was "inspecting the hold". Before she left, the captain bundled up a long-stagnant bottle of alcohol, a stained wad of cloth, and a tightly wound coil of thread.

This was not enough to distract Corrin from his work. There was something subtly manic about the lizard now that they were in the air, as if he were desperately taking in each moment, afraid of losing it at a moment's notice. Darow briefly entertained the notion that their new aeronaut might be sick. As much as he disliked the Marowak, it wouldn't do for him to faint while they were in the air. Thankfully it seemed Darow's fears were unfounded. Corrin worked with such zeal that it was difficult to imagine what sort of sickness could be afflicting him.

"No, not like that," the owl heard Corrin grunt from across the cramped deck. He swivelled his feathered head to see Corrin hunched down next to one of the essential ropes that kept the balloon properly fastened, with Kiwi sitting beside him. With some loose cords, Corrin was busy keeping his end of the bargain and teaching Kiwi a few extra knots.

Darow did not envy the poor deckhand. He imagined the Marowack to be a particularly obnoxious teacher, but Kiwi seemed to be handling the tutelage with more patience than Darow could muster.

With a look of deep concentration, the Kirlia set to work on a pile of rope, trying her best to emulate the tightly wound reef-knot that Corrin had shown her. Of course, this was not Kiwi's first time aboard a ship, and so the result was remarkably close to Corrin's attempt. Rather than praising the young deckhand's fast learning, however, Corrin only seemed confused.

"Why not… well, you know," the Marowack said, rapping a hand on his mask with a dry knock to emphasise his point, "use something other than your hands? I'm sure it'd make it much easier."

Kiwi only returned Corrin's befuddled look. Darow was only half-sure he knew what the aeronaut was getting at.

"The knot is a good one, very good," he continued, "but aren't your people known for their, well, higher powers? Their mastery over the psychic and all that sort of thing. Why, I'd have thought you could tie a knot without needing to touch the rope at all."

Ah, that was what he meant. Darow understood the point but couldn't help but judge Corrin as a particularly pedantic sort if he thought it worth bringing up at all.

"It feels wrong," Kiwi replied simply, "I prefer to use my hands, that's all."

Any normal Pokemon might have left it there, but Corrin's curiosity was not yet sated. "It's not that I can't admire the sentiment," he huffed, "but if you ever choose to evolve one day, your mental faculties will far outpace your physical form. That's just the way Gardevoir are."

"Gardevoir?" The Kirlia asked.

Even Darow was a little surprised at this, although perhaps Kiwi's ignorance was not so unusual. Evolution was a strange and sporadic process, one many Pokemon would never experience. It was a kind of metamorphosis, triggered in times of extreme stress that could lead to a Pokemon changing drastically and permanently into a new species entirely. Something a lot of people would prefer to avoid.

Corrin cleared his throat before continuing. "Gardevoir, your fully evolved form. I hear they are graceful mystics whose elegance is only matched by their ferocity. Not the sort to get their hands dirty."

The Kirlia's face fell. "Is that it? Sounds a bit naff if you ask me."

"For a female Kirlia, besides not evolving at all, it is the only way forward," Corrin replied, as if pronouncing a solemn judgement. Something about the way he said this seemed a little too sanctimonious for Darow's liking. The owl decided to butt in.

"Wasn't there more to it than that? I'm sure I remember hearing something about Kirlia evolving strangely," Darow hooted while fluttering over to their side of the deck.

This gave Corrin pause for thought.

"Yes and no," he began with the air of one trying to sound clever. "Kirlia has a split evolution, decided by whether it is male or female. For male Kirlia, in the right conditions, they can transform into a Gallade. But, but – ", he cut off Kiwi's rising spirits, "for you, such an evolution would be impossible. Contrary to the laws of nature, in fact."

"Stranger things have happened," Darow said.

Regardless, Kiwi seemed content with this explanation. She went back to tending to the ship, leaving Darow and Corrin looking at one another stiffly. It was at that moment, to Darow's delight, that the distant sound of thunder washed over the Dragalge.

A storm was coming after all.

Darow's good spirits were short lived. As the crew congregated to the southern side of the deck, they spotted a towering column of dark clouds on the horizon, like a pillar holding up the heavens. Even as far away as they were from the tempest, already the Pokemon could feel the brittle Dragalge begin to toss and turn in the disturbed air.

At long last, Ossawa emerged from below decks as the sounds of the storm penetrated even the tangled insides of the ship. She set to work helping Corrin and Kiwi prepare the vessel for what would surely be a less-than-smooth leg of the journey. Meanwhile, Darow took to the skies around the Dragalge, keeping the balloon on course with occasional gusts of wind and relaying changes in air pressure down to Corrin as he scurried about the deck.

"There's turbulence coming," Darow called out. "Pitch up!"

"Pitch up!" The cry was relayed across the deck. "Pass the kindling!"

With a sudden whoosh the iron brazier was set alight once again, giving the Dragalge a momentary burst of elevation as the storm drew ever closer. There was no time now for any unnecessary words as the crew became wholly focussed on keeping the Dragalge aloft. For the first time, they found themselves working together as a seamless whole. It was as if each of them in turn had become part of a wider machine – fleshy cogs smattered with fur and feather – the machine of the Dragalge. Churning ever onwards.

Eventually, however, Darow realised something was wrong. "Corrin!" he called down, "Take off your mask. You'll get us hit by the lightning."

Instinctually, Corrin touched his iron-rimmed Aggron-mask. He had only recently acquired it in Precipice while waiting for an airship to take him southwards. In hindsight, his steely choice of mask was perhaps not particularly practical for an aeronaut flying in the face of storms.

Inadvertently he had made himself into a walking lightning rod. Already the clouds around them were beginning to show signs of lightning flickering amongst the grey banks of air.

Nevertheless, a Marowak could not go without a mask. It was simply not an option for Corrin, however much he might have wanted to. A Marowak without a covered face was no Marowak at all. This was a natural law as old as it was immovable.

Unfortunately for Corrin and the crew, Darow was unaware of this fact.

"Chuck it off the side before you get us all killed!" The Noctowl shouted.

At this, Corrin bristled. Brimming with repressed anger, he called back, "Why, you'll have to – "

"– Calm yourself," Ossawa interrupted swiftly, arresting the situation before it could get out of control. "If you want to fight, do it when we land."

Thankfully, the captain was more informed than her first mate. Taking off her own wide-brimmed leather hat, she firmly pressed it into Corrin's hands.

"Use this to cover your face until we reach Callahast," she commanded, "don't worry, we won't throw your mask away. Just give it to me and I'll bury it deep in some cloth below deck, where no lightning will think to strike it."

There was a moment's silence save for the low growl of the wind. Corrin bit his lip, glancing from the captain to the owl soaring above him. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed the offered hat and, with a blur of motion, swapped it with the Aggron-mask which he thrust into Ossawa's paw.

"Thank you," the captain said, and wasted not a moment longer. She hurried below decks to store the mask just as a terrific roar of thunder shook the Dragalge from top to bottom. As she did so Corrin did his best to wrap his faded blue scarf around his face so that, with the help of Ossawa's hat, his features were all but invisible. It was not a perfect cover, but it would do for now.

With his face concealed, Corrin glared at Darow; his eyes framed in a tiny slit between the hat and scarf. The Noctowl squirmed, convinced that he had disgraced himself in front of the captain somehow. Catching a stormy updraft, Darow soared above the balloon and away from Corrin's gaze.

That lizard was only going to be trouble.

My apologies that this chapter was a little late. Of all the writing for Good Hunting I've done so far, this chapter is the one I'm least sure of, and so I wanted to put in some last minute editing to try and polish it up a bit.

I've partly been writing Good Hunting for the sake of writing practice, and to be honest, this chapter contains some issues I weren't fully able to iron out. The exposition might be a bit heavy-handed, but you live and learn.

Then again, perhaps my worries are unfounded. If you're interested in Good Hunting, I'd greatly appreciate hearing your thoughts in a review, if it's not too much trouble.

See you next Friday for Chapter 3, which must be my favourite chapter so far. I'm excited to post it already.

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