Gift: Smoother Foundations

2194 – Chicole Village

 Fletch ran out along the rickety old ladders swung between their window and the start of the fort – it was definitely a fort, no matter what Cub said – and dived in through its window, tumbling on the hard wooden boards.

 “Fletch! Fletch, come back! I didn’t mean it!”

 But Fletch was past listening. Who wanted their face smeared with make up? Cub should know that by now, but that school – her friends – Fletch wasn’t their dumb little test slate.

 Picking splinters from her arm, she ran out the door and across the bridges between the different trees that made up the expansive tree fort their father had built for them.

 Cub wouldn’t follow out this far, and that was fine. She had her friends, let her use them!

 They’d look prettier with it on, anyway.

 Fletch scrubbed at her face as she headed for the furthest extension of the fort, flaking away… some kind of – had they called it mousse? Foundation?

 Foundations were for houses.

 She caught at the rope and jumped, sliding down to the forest floor. The rough rope – it was new, she’d snapped through the old one last week – snagged at her hands, peeling flakes of skin away and leaving them raw.

 Not that she cared.

 Rubbing her hands on her shirt, she ran into the woods.

 Mum wouldn’t – well, she would care. But she was busy. And she’d as good as told Fletch to play nice with her sister and her friends. Even though they were four years older.

 And hells knew where dad was. Somewhere in the woods, if she was lucky. If she wasn’t, well… who knew.

 She’d probably be unlucky.

 Nearer the river, the ground got bogged down with all the rain they’d had recently.

 Fletch slowed down, hopping from raised tree root to raised tree root.

 The river was still running wide, its banks worn down and in no state to hold back the river. It was almost like the Bayou mum had told her about, over in Unova. Too wild to be Alto Mare.

 “Dad?” She stopped and shinned up the tree she was standing by, looking around.

 Something was whimpering, barely in hearing over the river.

 It probably wasn’t her dad.

 Fletch crawled out over the branch, disturbing a brightly coloured pokémon – a fancy looking butterfree, though the pattern wasn’t one she’d seen before. “Sorry,” she whispered, casting it only a fleeting glance.

 There, something moving in the mud. By the sound, not something that was meant to be there.

 Fletch dropped down, landing with a splash.

 The whimpering hiccupped and cut out.

 Fletch stood still, feeling the water soak into her boots, and listened. She could hear the river, mostly. Buizel repairing their holts, maybe, or the fish delighting in their new expanded territory.

 A staravia swooped down, lifting away with a finneon in its claws.

 Something sneezed, and the whimpering started up again.

 Fletch stepped carefully through the muddy water, trying to make as little noise as possible.

 Finneon fled from her feet and then came back to investigate, nosing at her laces.

 There was a small, raised piece of ground tented with sodden bracken she was sure the noises were coming from.

 Reaching forward, Fletch carefully parted away the bracken to reveal a blue cub.

 It squeaked and cowered away, covering its muzzle with its paws.

 “Hey,” she said softly. “It’s alright.” She held a hand out to it.

 The strange butterfree was flitting around her head again. Had she annoyed it that much by disturbing it?

There were the soft beginning nubs of antlers on the pokémon’s head, and a weird tufty sort of purple patch behind them.

 “What are you?”

 It looked up at her and trembled, still whimpering.

 Fletch reached in and picked it up.

 The creature stiffened and pushed away, but not for long. Then it collapsed in against her warmth, whimpering dying away in a whine.

 Fletch laughed as its wet nose pushed against her jumper, finding one of the holes and jolting against her skin. “It’s alright.” She turned, sloshing back through the river. “Come with me.”

 Not that she knew how to look after something like this. What was it, for a start?

 So maybe she should’ve paid better attention during her biology classes, or species identification or whatever. But they were for people mad about breeding, or training. So yeah, she might’ve not concentrated in them.

 “Mum’ll know.”

 That butterfree-thing – maybe it wasn’t actually a butterfree, but whatever – twitched its antenna, apparently agreeing with that statement.

 It let out a whimpering howl, and Fletch stopped dead.

 “Oh! You’re like dad!” She flicked her head up and around. “Well… sort of. Dad!” Changing direction, she scrambled through the forest in search of her dad again. “Dad!”

 She could have been yelling fruitlessly. Just – shouting at a (mostly) empty forest. But for once, she was lucky.

 Her dad came careening through the trees, chasing an aipom that held a stick in its tail, laughing madly.

 As the aipom saw her, it flicked upwards and dropped the stick at her feet, disappearing into the trees.

 “What?” She turned to watch it go, but it was already out of sight.

 “Fletch!” Dad stopped, his tail wagging furiously. “Oh, you have my stick!” He nosed at it. “It’s for your mother.”

 “Right. Uh – dad, can you help me out?”

 “What with?” He sat back with a slight squelch, though they were on mostly dry ground. “You should maybe go to your mother first.”

 “What?” Fletch shook her head. “No – no, it’s definitely you can help me with this.”

 “Really?” His tail was beating against the ground. “What can I do?”

 “Help – look, I found a pokémon.” She held it out slightly, feeling it beginning to get heavy.

 The pokémon whimpered and scrabbled at her arms, already seeing her as safety.

 “Oh! A cub.” Lyall nosed at it. “Not like Cub, but a – a–”

 “I know, dad. What kind is it?”

 “It smells of water.”

 “I found it by the river.” Fletch jerked her head in the direction she’d come from.

 It blinked and looked up at Lyall, whining.

 “Oh!” He reared back.

 “D’you know what it is?” She hugged it back to herself, soothing it.

 “A… a suicune.” He nodded decisively.

 “Is… that a good thing?”

 “A good thing?” Lyall barked. “They are legendaries! They look after water; the rivers until they hit the sea, the snow as it melts from the mountains.” He snuffed at it again. “I wonder how it got down here.”

 Fletch had really only heard the legendaries part of that. She looked down at the quivering pokémon in her arms “Can I keep it?”

 “Can you–” Lyall tilted his head.

 “Only if its family doesn’t come back!” she said quickly. “I just – I don’t have anything to do! Blod’s always away on placement, and Cub is – is–” Fletch cut off, remembering what had driven her to the woods. “I want to look after it.”

 “If the parents come back–”

 “I know, I’ll give it back.” Fletch looked down at it. “If it wants to go.”

 “Come on, then.” Lyall got to his paws and trotted away. “Don’t forget my stick.”

 “Where are we going?” Fletch bent down to pick up the stick and hurried after him.

 “Hunting. It’ll need to eat.”

 Fletch nodded and shifted it in her arms. She could learn that.

 This would be more interesting than Cub’s friends.