Electricity sparked deep inside the distant thundercloud and caught in the eyes of its audience of one.

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand…

With one ear, Noibat listened for thunder. With the other, he listened to the cliffs. He waited with a numb impatience.

Twenty-two-one-thousand, twenty-three-one-thousand, twenty-four-one-thousand…

BOOM!

The thunder's message came across loud and clear: the storm was about five miles away and growing closer by the minute. So where were the Joltik? If the Joltik were gone, he couldn't even begin to work out how much trouble he was in.

Gah! Noibat quickly pulled his wing down and planted it firmly on his hunting rock. His claw had risen unconsciously to poke at his ear. Messing with his healing injury was a habit he'd tried hard to break, but that was easier said than done when habit was pretty much all he had. Another lightning strike. He started counting again.

…eighteen one-thousand… nineteen one-thousand—

BOOM!

The storm was undeniably headed his way—still no Joltik. The Woobat would not be joining him, either. Turnout at their nightly gatherings had plummeted in tandem with the temperature, until the only stragglers left were the outcast Woobat who, for whatever reason, still lacked a roost for their winter hibernation. Now not even those desperate Woobat could be seen hunting or venturing out for water. The cliffs were utterly silent.

It was a relatively warm day, maybe in the low fifties. If Joltik hibernated—and he wasn't sure that insects did hibernate, in this world or any other—would they pick a day like this to start? Come on, he thought, get one more meal in before you sleep. Most of you won't regret it.

Noibat drew his blanket close, another small gesture that kept his claws busy. The cloth he'd found on the black plateau was really too small to be called a blanket, but it at least covered his back when he wrapped his wings around his chest.

Eight… nine… ten…

BOOM!

The storm was so close that the connection between flash and report couldn't just be in his imagination. If the Joltik weren't here now, then they weren't coming.

Rumble.

Noibat had long taken for granted that the earth here moved on its own, sliding and rotating and repairing itself in inexplicable ways. For a second, he thought that he'd finally caught it in the act: the boulders at the base of the plateau were sliding towards him against gravity as if they'd been caught in a rising tide. Spurs of rock waved in the air as the boulders shuffled uphill. It was the Roggenrola, only… they were behaving in a very un-Roggenrola-like way. The sedentary Pokémon were rising together to rebury themselves on higher ground.

Noibat gave up listening to the thunder and thought about what he was actually seeing: the storm was two miles away, but it looked a lot bigger than it should have. High, ominous clouds were arrayed from north to south in one unbroken front, a real beast of a storm. And what was that distant roar below the slight deafness of his injured ear? When he pushed his eyes to their limit, he could just barely make out a silvery haze between the earth and sky: the storm crawled on countless rushing legs of rain. He made a break for his cave.

Noibat ran his claws over his forehead, carefully washing the purple out of his matted fur and into the stream. He was trying to figure out what he was going to say to Unfezant. It had been several days since his disastrous flight to the black plateau—about two weeks before the first storm of winter—and the blood had really caked stubbornly to his fur. Naturally, there had been nothing to wash with while he was hiding in his cave.

"Ksss!" Noibat flinched back from his ear with a chirp-hiss of pain. The cool water made cleaning around the wound more bearable, but it still stung sometimes when he brushed up against it. He wasn't surprised that this injury wasn't healing quickly, his reflection in the stream had already confirmed the worst: there was a sizable chunk missing from his left ear where Mandibuzz's beak had bitten into it.

Look at that… What a fucking sight. He pressed on his ear and winced, watching how it folded around the triangular notch, his cleaning temporarily forgotten. He had never really owned his appearance as him, so the notch in his ear didn't bother him on an aesthetic level. No, the thing that made him so self-conscious of his injury were the memories of pain and loss that it was inextricably tied to. When he couldn't see the notch, he would hear it as a sort of dampening of low pitches, a muffled dead spot in his auditory range.

Noibat glanced at the top of the canyon constantly, waiting for a shadow in the sky.

It had taken a herculean effort and the onset of thirst for him to finally make the journey to the black plateau again—he had walked here rather than risking Mandibuzz's wrath by flying. No matter how bad things got, he still felt a vague duty to try and carry on like he always had. He knew that he couldn't live in fear forever. If he kept avoiding the black plateau, then he couldn't live, period. Hopefully a return to routine would help him move on. But before he visited the Pidove, he first wanted to make himself as presentable as possible, especially since he didn't have any Joltik to offer.

Noibat heard the uproar at the spring well before he saw it. The other Pokémon of the canyon must have noticed it too, because the Emolga, Panpour, and Cutiefly were nowhere to be seen. The spring had been transformed into the world's biggest birdbath. There were Pidove everywhere: they perched in every tree and bush, they splashed in the water, they milled about and chattered on the shores of the pool. At least a dozen Tranquil were fluttering this way and that, doing their best to maintain order. Barely in command of the flock were its three most senior members: two new Unfezant, a male and a female, plus the one he knew. Noibat got the uncomfortable sense that he was crashing a family reunion. Maybe he could come back another day…

"Kaa!"

Noibat was accosted by an unfamiliar Tranquil before he could sneak away. "Ka-a!" The Tranquil called out to the Unfezant. All three of them stared at Noibat—one in surprised recognition, the other two leering at him.

Luckily for Noibat, Unfezant—his Unfezant—came to his defense. He could only half follow the heated discussion that broke out between the three leaders of the flock, full of angry caws and gesticulatory flicks of the tail and crest. Unfezant spread his wings and puffed his chest in what Noibat now knew to be an impression of Mandibuzz. He bunched up his wings close to his body and flared his crest to the side—were those supposed to be Noibat's ears? Noibat was glad that Unfezant's version of his life story didn't seem to mention his first visit to the spring. Grudgingly accepting that the Noibat was no danger to the flock, the female Unfezant waved the Tranquil back into the crowd.

A path formed between the thronging Pidove as Unfezant made his way towards Noibat. He looked… Upset? Relieved? He looked the same. Actually, the thing that stuck out most to Noibat was how old Unfezant seemed, now that he had someone to compare him against. He was a little more hunched than his peers, a little more reserved with his movements. Although his feathers were colorful compared to the Pidove's, there was the slightest tinge of gray creeping around the edge of his beak. Noibat had never thought to question how old Unfezant was. He was a part of nature, a fixture of the canyon that could be depended upon as reliably as the rotations of the yellow plateau. All of these Pidove, and Noibat had never known him to have a partner.

Unfezant waited for Noibat to make the first move. Seeing the state he was in, Unfezant probably already had some inkling of how he'd fared after his angry exit from the spring. Noibat bowed his head in shame and let his ears do the talking.

Vmmmmmm.

'Unfezant, I didn't understand that you were trying to warn me.'

'I lost a lot because I didn't listen to you.'

'I would have listened if I'd understood.'

'Thank you for looking out for me.'

Unfezant blinked slowly, deciding what to do with the proverbial black sheep of his flock, this total charity case of a Pokémon who had proven to be a danger to himself and everyone around him.

"Faa," Unfezant sighed, and touched his wing to Noibat's forehead. His wing began to glow. A soothing energy flowed from the tips of Unfezant's feathers and into the base of Noibat's ear. He shivered. It felt like something soft was running over his skin, gently returning things to the way they were supposed to be. Unfezant withdrew his wing, and the glow stopped.

'Thank you.' Noibat wasn't sure what Unfezant had done, but his wound already felt a bit better.

"Doo!"

Prideful sidled awkwardly through the sea of pigeons, doing her best not to step on anyone. Even she was having trouble keeping up with the Pidove who was hell-bent on shoving their way to Noibat. Maggie burst from the crowd with a triumphant chirp and dropped something at his feet. He picked up the Cutiefly, looking it over in genuine surprise.

'Thank you! Where did you get this? I haven't seen a single Cutiefly all day!'

Maggie ruffled their feathers in a sort of shrug. Unfezant and Prideful exchanged a meaningful glance. Then Unfezant scooped up Maggie with his wing in a proud embrace.

'Wait… Did you catch this yourself?!' The Cutiefly was almost a quarter of Maggie's size!

"Doo-oo…!" they trilled smugly.

"KWAA!"

The other male Unfezant was flapping his wings like he was about to take off. Wrap it up, he seemed to say. The other Pidove were clumping together, their Tranquil siblings and cousins sorting them into squadrons. Unfezant gave Noibat a look that was both matter-of-fact and apologetic. Noibat understood, though he wished he hadn't. Unfezant was leaving him to fend for himself again.

Maggie, still sheltering under Unfezant's wing, shifted from one leg to another, their feathers starting to puff up. Noibat had no doubt that they also knew that this Cutiefly was a parting gift.

'Hey Maggie?'

"Doo?"

'Seriously, thank you,' Noibat said, doing his best to pack the sounds he made with as much gratitude as possible. 'Stay safe, listen to your dad, and I'll see you around, OK?'

Maggie's feathers flattened. They ruffled their wings together and closed their eyes, cooing softly. In Pidove language, that meant they were smiling.

"KAAA-WAA!"

The female Unfezant gave a signal, and that was that. Every bird in the flock took off in a flurry of wings. Maggie hesitated for a moment before they, too, took off, trailing behind Prideful and Unfezant as they joined the whirlwind that would spirit them away from the winter cold. Noibat scrambled up the wall and took off without caring if Mandibuzz was watching.

The flock moved as a single fluid unit as it climbed into the upper reaches of the sky. Though the individual Pidove that made up the flock were not very bright, together they were able to feel their way through the dungeon more efficiently than even the cleverest Pokémon could alone. Noibat watched with growing distress as they spilled past barrier after barrier, making the confines of the desert almost visible—not walls like he'd thought, but… portals? One squadron of Pidove would find an invisible rift in space and jump ahead, then the rest of the flock would flow through the rift and spread out again. But Noibat couldn't follow, he couldn't match their pace, he couldn't bring himself to fly any higher… whenever he tried to rise above his comfort zone near the ground, the air just lost its substance.

'Wait for me!' he cried. "Rrrrrk!"

The Pidove wheeled about once, and for a moment Noibat entertained the fantasy that they had heard his cry and were coming back for him. But the flock couldn't wait for any one Pokémon, let alone for a Noibat. Maggie, Unfezant, and the rest were a commotion in the distance, then a murmur, then a whisper. They lingered on the horizon for a minute longer before they were gone for good.

Clouds blotted out the sun, and the heavy drum of rain on sand soon gave way to the hiss of water on water. Rain surged over the saturated earth and cascaded off the capstone in great sheets until the floodwaters had spread everywhere in equal measure, turning the scrublands into a foamy sea.

Noibat could only see a tiny fraction of the chaos outside from his vantage point in the upper caves where he waited out the storm with a family of Woobat. The normally vocal bats were huddled together in a deep slumber, their breathing barely audible over the wind and rain. Noibat figured that weather like this must be nothing new to them if they could hibernate through it, which meant there would probably be other storms like this in his future. He wanted to shake one of the Woobat awake so that they could show him what to do, or at least suffer through the storm with him.

The sound of rain didn't relax Noibat; all he could think about was how happier he would have been if it had arrived a few months earlier. He was glad the Pidove had made it out in time.

Noibat didn't give up when the flock disappeared over the horizon. He kept flying, on and on, farther than he'd ever gone before. He'd never bothered to explore any of the scrublands beyond the yellow and black plateaus—he had a vague idea that the Pidove flock spent their nights on a mesa he'd seen in the south-west. The flock had been heading north-west when he lost sight of them.

Flying into the unknown with a single Cutiefly in hand—this wasn't how he'd imagined his escape from the scrublands would go. He told himself he knew how to find water now, that he could hunt and live off the land. The scrublands dragged by in a stony blur. There were only so many variations on "big mound of rock" you could see before they all started to look the same. Noibat paid no attention to the identical Joltik who wandered across the identical rocks and cliffs. He kept to the open desert, eyes peeled for the flock. Unlike when he followed the Woobat to water, there would be no do-overs if he lost his bearings now.

After hours of flying, Noibat finally lost his grip on the Cutiefly. Pfff. It dropped to the sand in a puff of dust. Thud! Noibat crashed down next to it, panting. Though the widening gap between him and the flock made him nervous, he knew he needed to give his wings a break. He looked around, trying to judge which of the nearby rock formations he should head to for takeoff.

Noibat was overcome by the sense of déjà vu that usually accompanied memories from his human life. There was something familiar about the plateau that rose out of the desert in front of him. Something very familiar, he realized with sinking disbelief. The plateau in front him was the yellow plateau. Once again, he was headed back to where it had all started.

All of his belongings were completely soaked. His neat piles of wood were smashed to matchsticks, the leaves he used for bedding had dissolved into sludge. He picked a rock off the floor and brushed away the crust of sand that had settled over it and everything else. He couldn't tell if the rock was supposed to be a gift from Maggie or a regular one for throwing. The keepsakes that he'd accumulated in his nest over the course of months had been turned into flotsam and rescattered across the desert. Even the heart mark had been washed off of the ceiling. Noibat felt a lump forming in his throat. He'd found everything he owned; it could all be replaced eventually. For now, though, Noibat had a thin blanket, a handful of rocks and wet sticks, and the last reserves of food he'd grabbed when he saw the storm coming.

Outside, the changes were just as drastic. The sky was overcast, the air unusually humid. Shallow puddles criss-crossed the wet sand, reaching out for one another like grasping fingers. The desert plants appeared to be flourishing, if that was any consolation.

Noibat walked over to one of the puddles and leaned forward to sample the rainwater (There was his stupid face and torn ear. He wished he still had his bottle.) The water was a bit muddy, but it was clean enough. If he flew away now, he definitely wouldn't go thirsty.

Noibat had attempted to run away from the scrublands five times so far, and each time it went the same way: no matter which direction he went in, he always wound up back at the center of his little world. He didn't know how the desert managed to turn him around so perfectly that he never noticed the change. That bothered him. When he tried to picture how his world fit together, he imagined the rotating plain of the yellow plateau repeated in all directions, a grid of tectonic gears meshing together up to the horizon and beyond, turning and turning and dragging him along…

Stop. That was enough. He took a couple of deep breaths—he needed to focus on the problems that he still might be able to solve. If he was going to find the hidden escape route that the Pidove had followed, he would need food and water. Assuming that Joltik could still be found somewhere out there in the desert, this water might be exactly what he needed to break his last ties to the yellow plateau and the black plateau.

The cool evening wind made his wet nose go numb. Hiding from the storm had eaten up the warmest hours of the day, and all the water in the world would be useless if he froze.

Fuck it. The water will probably still be there tomorrow.

He didn't feel ready to deal with the sight of his ruined home, so Noibat climbed the cliffs like he would for flying practice. The rest of the afternoon was spent watching the plateau's shadow lengthen east over the desert-turned-wetlands while Noibat considered his options. Alarm bells had been going off in the part of his brain that was still determined to survive for some time now. If things kept going on like this, he knew that there was a very real possibility that he would simply die from exposure. The thought of flying off again in the morning and facing the chill of his own constant headwind filled him with dread.

Maybe I should try hibernating too… I am a bat, after all…

Noibat yawned. It would be nice if giving up and going to sleep would actually solve his problems for once. He could find a hideaway in the heart of the plateau, someplace cozier than the drafty hole in the ground that had become his home. The Galvantula would be a danger, but there were bound to be Joltik in there, too.

Still, that survivor's instinct was hounding him, whispering that he'd never make it in the caverns, that he wasn't built for hibernation. At this point, the more he thought about it, the less he cared.

If it doesn't work out… If I can't run away, and I can't hide in the caves…

Then I guess I'll have to try to keep living like I have been.

And someday, maybe in the spring, I'll figure out how to get back home.

Noibat curled up under his blanket as best he could and fell asleep.

He was never sure exactly what woke him up that night. It was certainly cold. God, it was so cold. This was a night with no moon and even the stars seemed frozen, the ghostly aurora alone lording over the world below. Ice, actual ice, was forming on the shores of the desert, and frost was settling into the runnels in the sand. The cold had cut through his body and reached its way into his very bones. Noibat shielded his frozen ears with his claws and tried to think hibernatory thoughts.

Then, he saw it. There, out on the scrublands, was a point of orange light. A fire.

A campfire?

He was in the wilderness, it was nighttime, it was freezing; it was the exact time and place where a campfire belonged. That wasn't right, though—a campfire didn't belong here.

No, it can't be a campfire. It's a brushfire that survived the flood somehow, or a Pokémon trying to lure me into the open, like a Litwick, one of the nasty ones that eats your soul if you follow it.

The light flickered. It looked so fragile against the dark night and the winter sky.

But… I've never seen any Pokémon like that out here, and the lightning's never started fires before, even when it was dry. So what if someone really was passing through the desert, and they got caught in the storm? Maybe they're lost!

Not even the cold could bring down Noibat's skyrocketing hopes now. Even if the fire was dangerous, it was fire, and that was valuable in itself. Noibat imagined lighting a branch and flying it back to the yellow plateau like he'd dragged home the Galvantula net, bringing the joys of heat and light and cooked food into his life. Whatever this fire was, he needed to see this for himself. Noibat tied his blanket around his chest and glided towards the light.

More and more details fell into place as he wound his way toward the fire. The fire was moving, following a meandering route through the desert. Exactly like you would if you were navigating around the walls! He raced as fast as his wings could carry him, condensed breath billowing in his wake. There was a pair of footsteps—too light to be human—and something that shuffled across the sand. Two figures appeared in the halo of crackling flame.

Finally, there was the scent of fruit. He had never thought of this body as having a particularly keen sense of smell, but once he noticed it the impression of fruit-ness was so immediate that as a human he would have classified it as taste. It was like a blend of jalapeño and sour apples—no, jalapeño and cranberries—not too sweet, but spicy and nourishing, the kind of food that you might eat to cure a cold. Heck, he could even smell the texture: fibrous on the outside with a crisp and juicy inside. It smelled like real food. It smelled warm.

A Charmander and a Swadloon were trudging across the desert. The light came from the Charmander's flame, and the mouthwatering aroma came from the heavy-looking bags they carried. The bags were absolutely stuffed with fruit.

Noibat felt like he'd stumbled upon a scene from another world—well, another other world. His gaze flicked between the overflowing bags, the striped circlet that the Swadloon wore on its head, and the bandana around the Charmander's neck. What kind of Pokémon were these? The two completely dissimilar Pokémon were walking together in their own little caravan, Charmander leading the way. He'd never seen two unrelated Pokémon get along like this before (besides himself and the Pidove, which was obviously different). Was there a trainer somewhere around here making them play nice? Noibat swiveled his ears, but there was no hint of any other living being out there in the darkness.

If these Pokémon really were working as pack animals for humans, then whoever had recruited them must have had pretty limited options. Both Pokémon looked half-asleep under their heavy burdens. Their heavy burdens of delicious fruit… It all came back to the fruit; one of those bags would solve almost all of his problems. Right on cue, the Swadloon reached into a side pocket of their bag, pulled out a canteen, and took a swig. Now that was just showing off. He needed to get his hands on one of those bags.

As he watched from the shadows, Noibat realized with a start that he'd been fully ready to give up. Though the destruction of the storm had been the last straw, it had been inevitable that something would break after three months of living in the wilderness. But now, with all the tools of survival he could ever ask for just out of reach… he was willing to give it one more shot. Short of waking up in his own bed with memory intact, this was the closest thing to a miracle that he could hope to get.

With no plan except this impulse, Noibat swooped into the firelight.

The Swadloon was the first to spot him. They Bug-type hissed and shook their companion awake; the Fire-type responded with a sort of irritated grumble, then fell silent when they locked eyes on Noibat. The Charmander shrugged off their pack. A shadow passed over Noibat as they turned to confront him.

Noibat hovered for a moment, second-guessing the enthusiasm that the fire had inspired in him. Well, it wasn't like he'd expected these Pokémon to just give him their bags.

"CEEEK!" Noibat shouted his battle cry, committing to fight like he would commit to leaping off a cliff. The Charmander growled. With that, the battle began.

Noibat banked around the edge of the firelight, sizing up his opponents. It seemed like only the Charmander wanted to fight him—the Swadloon was just standing around. The Charmander was about the same size as he was, a bipedal Pokémon with reptilian scales, fangs, and a low center of gravity. They didn't look so tough compared to the likes of Mandibuzz, except for the fire that blazed from the tip of their tail. Noibat had no idea how flammable he was, but if he used his mobility in the air to his advantage, maybe he would never find out. All he had to do was stun them and fly off with their bag.

The Charmander inhaled deeply and exhaled sharply. Before Noibat could react, a volley of flames lit up the night!

He yelped and darted away as red-hot embers showered down on his wings, retreating into the cover of night. The Chamander breathed out again with the sound of coals hissing to life. They were trying to track him by the light of their flames.

"Kee!" Noibat called out from the shadows as he feinted right, then silently veered left. In a move inspired by Mandibuzz, he looped around and dove in from behind, hoping to catch the Charmander by surprise. Unfortunately, the firelight's reflection gave him away as he charged in from the darkness. The Charmander easily sidestepped his dive…

VAAAM!

…but they hadn't been ready for the old reliable ultrasonic. While they were still reeling, Noibat flapped over to the bag and hooked it with his legs—and nearly tripped out of the sky. The thing was way too heavy to lift. The Swadloon buzzed in alarm. In the process of kicking himself free, Noibat had overturned the bag and sent a dozen beautiful spiky red fruits tumbling into the dust.

Thud! Frozen earth slammed against his back. Noibat and the Charmander rolled over each other in a confused grapple until the Charmander emerged victorious, hurling Noibat away like a discus. More by luck than skill, he righted himself in the air and twisted around to pummel them with his wings. Claw clashed with claw, the Charmander swatting back everything he could throw at them. He was so preoccupied with avoiding from the flaming tail that he couldn't get a hit in.

The Charmander tackled again, this time catching him by the leg. Noibat struggled to break loose with huge beats of his wings—the Charmander breathed in, betraying another Fire-type attack. Slash! His claws caught on the lizard's snout, but the Charmander held firm, nostrils flaring as heat swelled in their chest.

FWOOM!

Noibat shuddered and howled as the flames rolled over him.

"eeeeEEEEEEEEEEE!"

The primal instinct to flee and hide in a dark cave temporarily drowned everything out, yet when Noibat came to, he was still airborne. It smelled like burning hair, but he was fine. Suspiciously fine. Even his blanket, which had no right to be fireproof, was barely singed. The Charmander had let him fly away.

I don't understand—they totally had me there, they could have roasted me if they wanted to…

As he swooped under another barrage of flames, Noibat began to form a new picture of the Charmander who stood protectively over the fallen fruit. Attacks that hurt but didn't harm, moves that just tossed him away… was this guy even taking the fight seriously? Were they going easy on him?!

Noibat's resolve hardened. If the lizard thought he was going to return the favor, then that was their mistake!

Noibat swept in from the front and knocked them off balance, this time taking advantage of the shadow cast by his foe's own body. The Charmander snapped back, fangs shining with an inner heat. Noibat froze at the memory of beak tearing into flesh—but this was an empty threat. They weren't even aiming for his eyes or throat, they were just biting at thin air.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Noibat let out a piercing screech right in the Charmander's face. They visibly tensed up and shoved him aside, collapsing backwards onto the icy sand with a satisfying crunch.

Noibat swooped away to admire his handiwork. The Charmander sat heavily on the ground, tail coiled around their legs, eyes searching wildly. This was it! For the first time in any real battle, Noibat had his opponent on the ropes. Everything but the Charmander dissolved into the background as Noibat circled into their shadow and dove. Triumphant, afraid, and only slightly on fire, he bore down on his prey with claws extended—the Charmander had staggered to their feet again, tail raised to ward off an attack, facing the entirely wrong direction.

He dove recklessly, aiming to crush his opponent like a Joltik.

A flash of light blinded Noibat as the Charmander whirled to face him.

Too late, it occurred to Noibat that by keeping their tail forward and facing away, the Charmander had made their back into a double blindspot. A weakness too good to be true. The firelight seemed to pale as the glow of battle faded from his eyes.

Noibat was suddenly very aware of his own momentum. Cold night air played over the unpleasant patchwork of chills and burns that covered his skin, stoking the embers that were caught in his fur. There was no time to pull out of his dive; parachuting his wings would just bring him to a screeching halt right in front of Charmander. He tried anyway.

The Charmander continued to spin on their heel as they sprung off the ground in a kind of jumping kick. Their back was to Noibat again. Had they overshot? No—the tail was the real threat. It lagged behind the Charmander's motion, whipping like a flail, gleaming like a morning star. But not in the same blazing orange.

The light hadn't just changed in his mind.

The flame was an incandescent violet.

Swadloon watched in unamused silence as the wild Pokémon was flung back into the night.

Charmander landed on his side and skidded to a halt in the sand—the concussive impact of his tail against the charging Noibat had been so great that he'd lost his footing. A quick push off the ground brought him back into a fighting stance, his flame sputtering back to its normal color.

Charmander positioned himself between Swadloon and the direction he'd launched the Noibat, but didn't pursue. Best to keep his client and the goods where he could keep an eye on them. Would the wild Noibat keep charging at him from the shadows? Or would they switch targets and dive for the helpless trader who hadn't even bothered to take off his bag?

Apparently neither. The winter desert was quiet once again.

No surprises there. Most wild Pokémon ran away after exchanging a couple attacks, and even the persistent ones would back off after such a serious hit. Wild Pokémon battled for food, for territory, even for sport, but only the dumbest and most desperate would take on an unfamiliar foe if it proved it could fight back. If he had to guess, the Noibat was probably passed out in the sand somewhere beyond his circle of light.

After casting his flame around to check for enemies one last time, Charmander finally returned to Swadloon's side. The Noibat had been a decent challenge, yet Charmander felt more exhilarated than winded (though did they have to be so dang loud?). The flame on his tail was double its usual size, working busily to melt the exhaustion from his body. That was the feeling of a job well done.

"Yes, well fought," Swadloon interjected before Charmander could open his mouth. "Now may we get going, before our glow attracts more wild creatures?"

Uh-oh. It looked like Swadloon wanted to make things difficult.

"Well, I can try to cover my tail a little more," Charmander said, "But we do need some light to work with. You never know what you might stumble across in a dungeon at night…"

"The only nights you should worry about are the nights between here and Riverlome! At this rate, we will make it there by Eisday. I will miss the market. My daughter said to me: 'Go early, you will beat the others there.' But no. I may as well have stayed home and collected more stock!"

A hundred lenses glittered accusingly behind Swadloon's insectile eyes.

"You young ones are always rushing everywhere, except when you have somewhere to be!"

Charmander's flame had been simmering down from the battle, but it leveled out a touch brighter than normal. It wasn't his fault that they'd been delayed by the weather. If anything, it was Swadloon who had arranged to travel right into the teeth of the winter storms without waiting for a favorable forecast.

Keep it together, Charmander, you've only got to deal with this guy for a couple more days.

Charmander took a deep breath and forced his flame to die down completely before he responded.

"Look, I'm sorry that we couldn't get to your request on time. The guild distributes the job requests within a day of receiving the letter, and I left the minute it was in my hands. If you're really set on making the market, then we can walk for a few extra hours tomorrow and take some shortcuts through the Desert… though I still doubt we'll be there before the end of the week. But I'll do my best to get you there as soon as possible!"

He paused and clutched his scarf, feeling the angular contour of the badge in his palm.

"And that's my pride and promise as an apprentice of the Riverlome Guild."

Charmander hoped his grin looked convincingly reassuring in the strange under-light of his tail.

"Hmph." Swadloon wrapped his cloak around himself more tightly, but didn't complain further.

Good. Charmander thanked his lucky stars that Swadloon was the sort of Pokémon who could be shut up by a little professional flattery. An angry client would complain forever if you let them, full of "why-are-you-so-late"s and "I'm-going-to-report-you"s—at least until they got where they wanted to go and suddenly forgot all of their concerns. Charmander could sympathize, to an extent; the prospect of a long, cold journey ahead would put nearly anyone in a bad mood—though Swadloon still seemed grumpier than most.

Charmander, on the other hand, was actually happy to be there (even if he could do without his client right now). Mystery dungeons like this were his favorite, the open ones where you could take in the whole bizarre landscape all at once. The way the colossal tables of rock towered over the wetlands… Desolate Tablelands definitely lived up to its reputation for harsh beauty. He could only imagine what it must look like from the sky. From up there, he decided, the pools of winter rain would look like footprints on a busy road, or runes scribbled on a page. Maybe the capstones themselves were footprints, too, marking where Groudon had crossed the mountains when the world was young, leaving trampled earth to endure while the surrounding sediment was washed away by storms.

Groudon. Yeah, right. Charmander snorted at his own overactive imagination. Pokémon had suggested stranger theories to explain why dungeons were the way they were. He'd added some good ones to the mix himself, mostly to get a rise out of Venipede. Ley lines, spirits, pockets of cursed air… it was no wonder why people had so many ideas about these alien places which were so widespread and poorly understood. Charmander always jumped at the opportunity to take assignments that would let him visit new dungeons. Whatever the mission, it was guaranteed to be way more exciting than running the route to Terraced Pass for the billionth time.

That doesn't change that I still have work to do, though.

Charmander tried to ignore his client's judgemental stare as he gathered up the loose berries and wrestled his bag back onto his shoulders. This bag was going to be the death of him. It clearly wasn't made for a Pokémon of his size, but Swadloon couldn't be persuaded to leave it behind, and Charmander wasn't going to say no to a client after travelling all the way to Raging Coast to find him. Diggersby was right, he did hate hauling missions, mainly because he kept getting tricked into accepting them.

You want to criticize how I do my job? I'm not the one who's supposed to be carrying your stupid berries. How would you like it if I left them for the Noibat?

Needless to say, Charmander kept these thoughts to himself—he just turned his back to Swadloon and set off towards the illusory north that his compass pointed to. He noticed with distaste how the icy sand here stuck to his claws as he walked, as if the dungeon itself was trying to drag him down. Just a couple more days. The mission would be over, his client would be happy, and Charmander could move on to bigger and better things, Zekrom willing.

Swadloon gave another wordless hiss of warning. Charmander dropped his bag and spun to attention, handily disguising the flaring of his tail.

"See something?" he managed.

Swadloon gestured towards the midnight desert with a sweep of his cloak. Charmander sighed inwardly, then dutifully covered his flame to readjust his eyes to the gloom. That was one of the drawbacks to having a torch permanently stuck to your tail: it seriously messed with your night vision.

Charmander stared in astonishment as the wild Noibat, singed and battered, crawled back into the light.