Chapter 3

Not long after having tea with Hilda, Denté found himself packing up the shop once again. Rarely do he and his dad spend more than three days at a time in one spot, so all the furniture gets pulled from above to below deck a couple times a week, and then vice versa. All the mismatched chairs get shoved into the storage area in as orderly a fashion as possible, so they don't topple during travel. All the tables have hinges fashioned near the base, so they can fold up and be stacked on top of each other. All the pots and pans, bowls and cups, spoons, forks and other such utensils are locked up in the cabinets. Soon enough, the only things still able to be moved around on board the ship were the two Pokémon piloting it, and the sun was starting its descent, towards nightfall.

"Remember Denté, we have an early morning about us tomorrow, so we must get a good night's sleep." Wenstrel said as he tied up the ladder leading to the deck.

Denté strolled down the stairs in the slowly fading sunlight. "Yeah, I know. You've been saying that for hours now."

Wenstrel looked up briefly from his handiwork. "Have I? Sorry about that." He then finished up the knot, and a satisfied smile crossed his face. "Did I also mention that we were sleeping on the ship tonight?"

"Yeah, you said that too." The oshawott replied.

Wenstrel crossed his arms with a frown. "Well, drat."

Denté sat himself down in a short, handcrafted chair, nailed to the floor of the ship, that faced the sunset. He slowly pulled out a small carving knife from his bag, along with a case holding a half-finished model of a crude horse-like Pokémon, and began shaving thin bits of clay from the surface, smoothing it out. Wenstrel peeked over his shoulder, and glanced at the figure.

"You seem to be close to finishing that rapidash."

Denté rolled his eyes, "I've said this before Wenstrel, it's just a ponyta." He said, monotone.

Wenstrel sighed, uncrossing his arms, letting them drop to his sides. "I'm sorry Denté, I try hard to remember but-"

"Don't worry about it, you get more forgetful when you're stressed." Dente said, while letting a rather long shaving fall to the ground. "I know you're trying your best."

Wenstrel paused for a moment. He then carried himself, and knelt down to Denté's side.

Denté stopped shaving clay for a moment, then turned his head to look at Wenstrel's eyes. "Uh, yeah? What is it?"

"You're just like him, you know."

"Huh?"

"Your father."

Denté turned back to his sculpture, taking large chunks out of the base of the clay. "What makes you say that?"

"He always understood. He was the type of Mon to put others before himself, and loved making others happy." Wenstrel stood up a bit. "He even used that same knife to carve figures when he was about your age."

Denté glanced at the flat of the blade, where faded initials were still scratched into the surface, but too worn to make out.

"He would make little figurines and gift them to others all the time when we were younger. I think the first one he gave your mother was a luvdisc." Wenstrel continued.

"Uh-huh." Denté said, adding detail to the figure's mane.

"It wasn't much longer that they started dating, and eventually they were betrothed. They were so happy that day. The only day to compare to that one was the day of your birth."

Denté said nothing, scratching at the sides of the body, adding texture.

Wenstrel's smile faded once again. "Your parents meant a lot to me, and I miss them most every day. Since the day they passed on, I've been taking care of you, and I don't plan to leave your side anytime soon. I just want you to know that they loved you, Denté. Just as I love you, too."

Dente sighed, setting the knife and sculpture back into his bag. "I know Wenstrel."

Wenstrel wrapped him up in a bittersweet hug. After a few moments, Denté said "Wenstrel? I think the sun has set now."

Wenstrel looked up, towards the horizon, the light fading out of sight. Stars started to prick the sky, the not-quite full moon joining them.

"Ah yes, so it has. Best we should get to sleep, eh?

XXXX

…calm…

Water burbling…

…A crash… screaming…

…more noises…

…

…Silence…

…..

Bright…burning light…

…it hurts…

…Help…me…

XXXX

Denté whipped his head off the pillow, breathing rapidly. It took a few moments to remember where he was.

"That was just a dream." He barely whispered. He shook his head, reaching a paw to his face. "Why did it feel so familiar..?" he pondered. He shook his head again, this time to wake himself up.

Denté felt his hammock swinging gently side to side. It was pitch black below deck, only the faint glow of moonlight came from the mouth of the trapdoor. Denté reached his head out and looked downwards, noticing Wenstrel's empty hammock. With a stretch, he kicked off his blanket and hopped of his hammock to the cluttered floor below. It was difficult to get in and out of the upper hammock at such a small size, but it sure beats the chance of getting flattened by a heavy quagsire when you least expect it in the middle of the night.

Denté shambled over to the ladder, feeling his way, trying not to collide with any furniture, then hefted his way up onto the deck. He felt along the walls of the upper deck, feeling for a particular handle, before he found the one he was looking for: the bread cupboard. Inside, he grabbed a cinnamon bun and popped it into his mouth. It was quite stale. It worked for breakfast, but may be better for bait. He scarfed it down before finding his way to the helm, where he saw Wenstrel.

"Ah, good morning, Denté! Nice to see that you're up. I got a head-start on the trip; we should be able to take a break half-way through for a picnic lunch a good ways down the river. There's supposed to be some nice herbs and fruit to harvest around there. That should give us something to do while we stretch our legs."

Denté gave a quick nod, before going back down the stairs. Considering Wenstrel's plan for lunch, he'll probably make a small breakfast to tide them over. He hopped below deck once more, and reappeared with a fishing rod. He could very well catch a fish with his own skills, but currently the ship was moving, making this the easier option. He felt for the bread cupboard once again, and grabbed out another bun, ripping it into four small pieces and attached one to the hook at the end of the rod. Sitting down in his chair, he casted his rod and planted the end of it into a notch carved under his seat.

Being on the move all the time gave Denté a lot of time to figure out a few hobbies. Fishing was one of the things he could do pretty much all the time, considering they travel on the water. You may think it strange that one would eat fish, being that they're all Pokémon as well, but as Wenstrel put it: "There are two varieties of Pokémon in this world, Denté. The sentient, and the wild. No one is quite sure how the separation between them started, but as it stands now, it's considered all right by most to eat wild ones. Eating a sentient Pokémon is avoided entirely. There is a fine line between the two, but as long as you eat wild Pokémon in intense moderation, you shouldn't have anything to worry about."

Denté remembered that Wenstrel also got into specifics about the dangers of eating too many wild Pokémon, the difference between sentient and wild fish, and other such topics, but he lost interest after the first hour.

After all the recollection, his line went taught. Quickly, he flung the tip of the rod toward himself and started to wrestle with the wild fish in the water. After a few intense moments, the fish lost strength, and Denté pulled the line up out of the water. It's easy to tell if a fish is sentient or not. Usually, if they are sentient, they are taught not to eat strange dangling bits of food in the water, but occasionally a starving sentient Pokémon will ignore that. After the fish flopped onto the deck, Denté studied it. It was a feebas, from the looks of it. He carefully tapped its cheek and said, "Are you wild?"

In response, the feebas flopped around, trying to fight against the hook in its mouth, not uttering a word.

Yep, this one is wild. Denté thought. He reached into his bag and grabbed his carving knife, then proceeded to clean the fish. Afterwards, he dragged the feebas behind him on his way to the kitchen. He grabbed a pair of stones, and smacked them together, and started a small fire in the oven.

"We need to empty the ashes soon, not much room left for new kindling." Dente said to no one in particular. After stuffing in a few thin logs, he shut the slat. With the light of the fire, he found a baking sheet and laid the fish on top of it, scattering dried dill and rosemary all over, along with fresh Oran zest, salt, a pinch of pepper and a bit of oil. While the oven was still heating up, he retrieved some rice, shoveled several scoops into a pot with water, and set it on top of the oven. Finally he slid the large fish into the heated chamber, and closed the heavy doors. The few minutes waiting for the fish to finish cooking were spent whittling away at his sculpture from last night. Soon, the sweet, buttery aroma of flaky feebas permeated the air around the ship, soon bringing the attention of a certain quagsire.

"Feebas for breakfast today, eh? Those don't tend to have much meat on them, but they're perfect for a light meal." Wenstrel stated.

After peeking inside the oven, Denté looked up at Wenstrel and declared, "It's starting to turn golden brown, should be done in a few more minutes." He then closed the oven doors again, and slid the pot of rice to the cooler side of the stove. He hopped over to the table and sliced the Oran berry from before.

"You're looking right at home in the kitchen now. Wasn't more than a year ago you were stumbling about, not able to tell a wooden spoon from a spatula." Wenstrel reminisced.

Denté opened the oven again, being greeted by a hot plume of steam. He jerked backward a bit, then reached inside with a nearby dishcloth to pull out the scalding hot tray. Working quickly, he squeezed the contents of the juicy Oran berry over the fish, and wafted the resulting aroma to his nostrils.

Wenstrel looked at his creation, and said, "Spectacular job, Denté! It looks wonderful." Before heading back up to the helm.

Denté went to grab the pot of rice, smiling a bit. Wenstrel was easily pleased, especially when it comes to cooking. Even when he was just starting out, the quagsire would complement each meal he made, even if it tasted horrid.

"Wenstrel looked like he swallowed Grimer gunk when I made Payapa and Chesto stew that one time. He was sick the next day, but never complained about the food." Denté thought.

After serving out the rice into dishes, he split the fish into fair portions, his a bit smaller. Then, he drizzled the juices from the pan onto each serving, balanced both meals on a tray, and brought them up to the helm.

Since making the meal, the day has grown a fair bit brighter, the sun now half-risen, enrobed by clouds. The gentle rushing of the moving river was the only noise, aside from the repeating call of Pidgey somewhere above them. The rich aroma of damp earth and vegetation surrounded them on both sides, muted by the crisp smell of the rushing water.

"Ah, how nice of you to share your breakfast. It looks great! What did you season it with?" Wenstrel inquired.

Denté set the tray down on the floor, then handed over Wenstrel's meal. "Just some dill and rosemary we had drying since last week."

"Ah, it seems like a good pairing with the fresh feebas. Fresh herbs would've been better, but we're working with what we've got, I know." Wenstrel said in a cheery tone. "Perhaps we'll find some herbs during our break later today." He shoveled a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

Denté nodded his head, digging into his own meal. Not much else was said during the meal, and the trip downstream was relatively eventless. The wind blew gently, pushing the vessel through the water slightly faster than the current pulled it, though largely at a slaking's pace. To occupy the time, Denté would work on his sculpture some more, now largely finished with the detailing, moving onto polishing it with his hands and fresh water. Satisfied with the job, he set it inside the stove close to the entrance so it could dry and harden with the passing embers.

Denté was officially bored. This was not uncommon for him, under the circumstances. His usual pastime now sitting in the oven, he found himself at a loss for what to do. He settled to hanging face down off the side of the boat, staring at the water, poking at his reflection with a stick. He did this for a long while, or so he thought. But when he looked up at the sky, the sun's position told him it was about seven o' clock. He groaned in frustration, which he soon regretted.

"Sounds like you need something to do." Wenstrel said, looking at him from the helm. "Seems like a great time to organize the storage a tad."

Denté mentally slapped himself before he hopped up and waddled to the storage, below deck. Denté couldn't remember the last time the storage had been properly sorted. There were generalized sections, such as the furniture and décor, the cold storage, and the dry storage. It's everything else that's shuffled between that needs sorting.

"It is a good way to pass the time." Denté thought. "It will be a few more hours until noon.

XXXX

Denté hopped off the bottom rung of the ladder and started cleaning. The sunlight filtered through the cracks between the floorboards. It was generally cold, being right next to the water and all. His first stop was the cold storage. A quick glance told him it didn't need much cleaning. He noticed about eight or nine tall bottles of milk stuffed inside.

"That's probably for the yogurt parfaits, then." He thought out loud.

He looked to his left, taking notice of the furniture. It was precariously stacked together in the corner of the room, supported by several lengths of rope. He grabbed up the stray glass bottles and crate, then set them aside at the base of the ladder.

"That wasn't so bad!" He thought to himself.

Then he turned the corner. The assorted storage was an absolute tepig-sty! Denté groaned, then knelt down, picking up random trinkets and models, sorting them into several piles in front of the large cabinet. His paws stopped when they came across a clay model, fired and set with a quartz prism. It was in the shape of a heart, or, more accurately, a luvdisc.

His heartbeat quickened as he turned it over, taking notice of the black char marring the surface of the figure.

Fire.

Burning…Heat…

Pain.

His heartbeat grew ever faster, as he stared out in front of him, clutching the figure to his chest.

A crash…screaming…

Tears formed in the corner of Denté's eyes as the memories of that night started to flood his mind.

He screwed his eyes shut. He threw the figure on top of the cabinet, then turned away from the pile, trying to slow his breathing.

I just can't forget…

He paused for a few minutes, focusing on his breathing.

His heartrate close to normal, he turned to the rest of the pile and sorted everything as quickly as he could, trying to cover up that memory. He glanced toward the cabinet.

"After I get things sorted, I'll shove them in there and be done with it."

End of Chapter 3