Early Bird [Pokemon SI]

You’d be surprised by how exclusively Pokemon tend to treat each other. 

Furret dropped me off at the edge of the Springs territory. She wasn’t welcomed there, being a predator. Not to mention, Furret was pretty much a loner on her own -- surprisingly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her interacting with anyone other than myself on a personal basis. I wanna be worried -- if we were both human, I’d be fussing over her social life, mental health, etc -- but I have no idea how the gesture might be received here. Especially after what just happened. 

The trees drew together, forming a thicker canopy which softened the sunlight to a mild green glow. The air was mostly still, and any breath of wind sent a gradual, compounding rustle into the sky as millions of leaves blew into each other. 

Springs territory was considered mostly neutral ground, if only by necessity. 

Pokemon… did not tend to like mixing with ‘mons outside their evolutionary line. Especially us weaker ones -- herd mentality went strong. I think that some of the pidgey and spearow were friends, and that the bellsprout and oddish kids liked to play together, but I think those are special cases where they were similar enough to disregard their differences. 

That’s probably why trainers are so important, actually. It’s the trainer that mediates a very varying team, allowing them to overcome type disadvantages and plan for everyone’s weak spots. Reaching a level of cooperation you couldn’t dream of reaching in the wild. 

I haven’t… really given much thought about finding a trainer yet. Humans were rare around these parts, so far from the trails. 

Besides, I have something more relevant to look into now. 

I hop through the underbrush, small enough that I could just duck through the brambles rather than figuring out how to push them away with my non-existent hands. And just like that, the view of the Springs open up before me. 

It was kind of in a depression, with the ground reaching up to form a sloped wall. Centrally, a constant stream of water bubbles forth from the far rock wall, pure and clean. The flow cuts through the area, weaving a careless, curvy pattern, before exiting on the opposite side of the depression. 

Here, prey pokemon tended to gather for water, being the safest and most populated for those not strong enough to fight for themselves. 

A gaggle of nidoran look up as they notice my arrival. They were still accepted here, before they evolved. I’ve seen the parents before -- a towering pair, both Nidoking and Nidoqueen, looking absolutely terrifying together. I wouldn’t really want them regularly visiting this place either. 

Well, time to be utterly shameless. 

“Hey, could I ask you something --” I start as I approach, before being cut off with a dismissive twitch of a purple snout. 

“Please don’t talk to us,” the eldest says to me, then immediately turns to huddle with his siblings in a defensive circle.

That sets the tone of my investigation. 

A train of rattata pass me, and I approach the one at the end. “I hope you don’t mind -- “ She minded. 

“Do you know anything about -- “ Tangela weaves her vines around her face together, blocking it from my view as she sidles away. 

“Is the Voice of the Forest -- “ The caterpie actually spits a String Shot at me, and the weedles who were close by follow suit. I jump high, frantically flapping my wings to avoid the shots. 

A nice bellossom spared a few minutes talking with me, but admitted that he didn’t really know what I was looking for. 

“You should be asking your elders about this, child,” an elderly paras says to me. She’s perched on a thick root, eyes closed. I’m resting my sore feet beside her, watching other ‘mons walk past. Unfortunately, they seem to avoid this course once they realise I’m here. 

“I don’t have any,” I tell her truthfully, and Paras responds by opening one eye and, without moving her body, flicking her gaze in my direction. She squints. 

“Ah, I thought you were just a pidgey,” she admits. “What is a natu doing in these forests? And one so woefully unprepared?” 

“... I don’t know. But I think I have to do something.” 

She hums. “Every living being in this world was put here for a purpose. Everything occurs at their appointed time.”

Is she asking me to be patient? It’s been three weeks since I’ve woken up in the body; I’m very good at waiting. 

“But you heard it too, right?” I ask her. Maybe I did indeed lose my mind with this transformation, and completely imagined what happened. 

“The Voice of the Forest? Yes, I did,” Paras answers. “I doubt there was anyone in this entire forest that didn’t hear that song.”  

“Then why doesn’t… anyone talk about it?” Is it some religious thing? Are they just not allowed to mention it? Furret said that while she’d heard about it happening years ago, this was the first time it’d happened in her life. I would’ve thought, maybe even a little gossip… 

“Hmm…” Paras draws out the sound, gravelly voice unhurried. “Perhaps, I might not be the best pokemon to explain…” 

And with perfect timing, two shiny, rounded hoofs stop quietly in front of where we were seated. I look up, and up, and up, to see a stantler, bearing his magnificent antlers. The black orbs which mounts each horn seem to distort with an unusual energy, making the antlers look unsettlingly like a pair of eyes. 

“You are the one who has been asking about the Voice of the Forest?” the stantler says. His voice is older than I expected, age and wisdom apparent.  

I get up to my feet. “Yes, I believe it’s something important for me to find out.”

“Natu, we have accepted you among our kind, despite you abrupt arrival.” Stantler sighs, almost sounding exasperated. I can only duck my head apologetically. 

He’d used my name there, rather than my species. It’s difficult to precisely explain the language of Pokemon, but it was entirely possibly to tell which specific ‘mon you were referring to with just their species name. You could shout for a specific ‘geodude’ and the one in question would recognise the call. It’s not exactly the tone, or delivery. Not entirely sound. Perhaps a combination of all the senses, perhaps it’s magic. Perhaps it has to do with the existence of psychics in this world. 

And here’s the thing about being psychic, that I haven’t had the full opportunity to explore, because of the lack of psychic-types in these woods. Sixth sense, third eye, whatever they called it back home -- here, it was real. It’s not obvious, not vivid; but at the same time, if you looked to hard, you couldn’t have any hopes of ever identifying it. 

Stantler wasn’t a full psychic type, but with his experience with illusions, he was familiar with the craft enough so that I could share. 

[ thrumming energy, awakening, the wonders of sight, future in motion, past overcome, this is just the beginning, something's going to happen, something, something -- ]  

Stantler closes his eyes as he gets his thoughts in order. There’s a poignant silence as he opens them again, and looks down at me contemplatively. 

“Sorry… but it’s really important.”