Rest - OUTDATED

It was when she was younger before her fur was bristled and hard when she still roamed those broad green fields and feasted upon the lush green grass. Back when she still had a family. She always was a wild thing, bucking and frolicking through the fields, but it was not a wildness out of pain or spite but a love of life and its craft.

Winter was when she learned how to rest, to dream the dreams not meant for a simple wild mareep. The snow was thick, and her group huddled under the large thick sycamores, barren from leaves, nut pods sometimes falling and hitting one in the head, waking them up from their deep slumber. Murkrow looked down upon them hungrily, but they would be a fool to attack one of the fat, well feed sheep. The bald kindly farmer would bring them out the scraps of feed for them, just what he could, sometimes nothing; it was winter after all. But the mareep had laid claim to the area beside the highway, where the people threw their trash out of their cars' windows rather than waiting for the eventual stop for gas.

Hamburger, slushies, hot dogs, and beef jerky all went into their stomachs. Children's toys, keychains, wool blankets, and wrappers all went into their stomachs. They had grown stronger; generations ago, many died from feasting on such delicacies. But the nature of pokemon pushed through, and they had evolved.

One simple wild mareep could not sleep beneath the great sycamore trees, so she got up, stretched her short blue legs, and pushed out from the group. She rubbed her side with her sharp upturned horn and slowly roamed on over to the side of the highway, mukrow glaring at her as she moved, alone. They pack new better than to go upon the black oily pavement; evolution gave that knowledge to them too. And they knew better than to go too close to the people that would sometimes get out of their cars, to chase the sheep or to take their food.

She shoved her snout into the piles of discarded things and ate, eventually coming across something round and sharp. She had seen people though objects like these out their windows; they moved fast in the air and landed with a cut, not something one would want to be hit by. But it was in the pile of food, so she ate it.

But fast as they could with their cold, brittle bones, the murkrow swarmed, digging their still sharp claws into her, trying to lift her off the ground, but the mareep was fat and could not be lifted. She screamed, and the others under that giant sycamore raised their sleepy heads but did not move; they knew better. She could do nothing more than panic, which increased to terror as the birds ripped her fur, so she fainted.

She had learned a knowledge not meant for a simple wild mareep, and she dreamed the wildest dreams of pain and suffering but the hope that would come after. Of a purple beast and its pain. Of a sun and a moon. But then she woke up, breathed a deep breath, and let out as much electricity as she could. The crows all fell to the ground, and she continued to eat, the mareep still under the tree and her fur a little bit sharper.