One second, Zane felt like he'd fallen through ice; the next, spring sunshine hit his face.
At least he wasn't going to die alone in the woods.
"Cramorant," he called, "use Spacial Rend!"
"GAH?"
The bird braced its head with a wing, blank stare straight out of a Psyduck meme.
One beat… two… three.
Cramorant just tilted its head.
Zane sighed. "Great. My level's too low, huh?"
He crouched, pointing at his own chest. "You know who I am, right?"
The bird quit holding its head and started pecking at a pebble.
"…Okay then."
Zane reached out, half-expecting a bite. Nothing. He scooped the bird up.
"GAH?"
"Can you even understand me?"
Cramorant preened a wing like he wasn't there.
So it didn't mind being touched. It knew him somehow—but commands were useless. Two options: this thing couldn't hear, or couldn't grasp human words. He had zero trainer experience and no clue which.
In the anime Pokémon just get it. Real life? Not so much.
He grabbed a rock and lobbed it into the river—SPLASH. Cramorant's head snapped toward the sound instantly.
Hearing's fine. It's the language that's broken.
No point sulking. He recalled the bird to its Master Ball and followed the river again. Water meant people eventually, and people meant answers.
He kept quiet as he learned his lesson from the Beedrill fiasco—but wildlife still peeked out. Zigzagoon sniffed the trail, Wurmple dangled overhead, and Lotad lapped at the bank. Even a rare Mawile watched from the reeds.
None attacked; they just stared like he was reality TV.
Zane itched to pet them all, but common sense won. One step toward Mawile, and those steel jaws would snap his arm off.
After an hour, the sting on his side flared. He lifted his shirt, purple veins spider-webbing under the skin. Poison was spreading fast. Not good.
Hunger made it worse. Stomach growling echoed louder than any Pokémon's cry.
Late-summer heat thickened. The air felt heavy, storm-coming heavy.
"Zigzagoon, Mawile… is it Hoenn?" he muttered. Then a Skwovet popped from a branch. Galar critter. So regions mashed together here—game logic was dead and buried.
Noon came and went. No food, no water, just him, his Pokémon, & His nasty sweat.
The Skwovet clutched a pink Berry. Squirrel instinct: stash for winter. If Zane tailed it, maybe—just maybe, it would lead to a stash with a Pecha.
Two seconds of pride versus survival. And in this case, Pride lost.
He shadowed the squirrel through the canopy until it hopped onto an old oak, stuffed the Berry into a hollow, and left.
Zane darted in, arm deep. His fingers closed around a berry.
[Oran Berry: restores a little Pokémon HP.]
Not what he needed. He dropped it in his left hand and reached again.
A heartbroken squeak blasted overhead.
He froze, locking eyes with the Skwovet on its return.
"…"
"…"
Awkward silence.
Thirty years old and caught stealing from a squirrel. He yanked his right hand out, which was empty—hoping to bluff.
But it was too late. The squirrel pointed at his left fist, chittering like a cop.
Zane sighed. "Fine, you got me."
Before he could apologize, the furry missile launched. CLANG—tiny fists drummed his forehead.
"Ow, ow, okay!" He grabbed the mouse under the arms, returned the Oran. "Take it back, truce, okay?!"
Skwovet snatched the Berry, huffed, then sniffed. Its nose twitched toward Zane's waist—poison and blood.
Zane lifted his shirt, showing the bruised, violet skin. "Look, I'm dying here. Didn't mean to rob you."
He watched, heart thudding. If this thing could understand his tone, maybe—
Skwovet hesitated, spun, and dove into the hollow. It came out hugging a different pink fruit, eyes shiny with reluctance. With a heroic squeak, it shoved the Berry toward him.
[Pecha Berry: cures poison.]
Zane's jaw dropped. "For real?"
The squirrel nodded, then extended a back leg. A tiny pink bow—human-made—was tied around its ankle.
"Someone helped you before," Zane whispered.
The pieces clicked: rescued squirrel trusts people, now pays it forward.
A grin spread across his face. If one wild Pokémon could care, others might too. Survival odds just went up.
He swallowed the Pecha in two bites. Sweet juice flooded his mouth; the burn in his side cooled within seconds, purple fading to healthy pink.
Skwovet watched, satisfied, then scampered back into the leaves.
Zane pumped a fist. "First ally obtained."
Time to find the second—and maybe a town before dark.
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