My breath curls out in front of me, fading quickly into the still, cold air. The sky above is a blanket of unbroken gray, thick and low, the kind that presses down like a weight rather than promises rain. It's not the kind that warns of a coming storm. It's just the sort that settles in and stays, dulling the color of everything it touches.

  The trees seem taller beneath that sky, their spindly limbs stretching upward, trying to scrape the clouds. The pines sway faintly above, and every now and then, a drop of meltwater slides down old bark and lands with a soft pat in the snow. Far off, a Starly calls. A single note, short, clipped, and unhurried. Not in alarm, just presence.

  I moved through my territory quickly. Not rushing. Just with purpose.

  The food we had left in the cave wouldn't last more than a day or two. Isaac hadn't noticed yet, too focused on trying to walk without falling flat on his face. But even with his progress, He needed food.

  I veered down a slope where the snow gathered in natural drifts. The trees were denser here. Their needles held patches of snow, bowing low under the weight. The wind stirred, and I tasted it instinctively. There were no signs of blood or beasts nearby, just the cold and pine. I pressed further. The snow deepened as I went.

  My paws sank a little more with each step, crunching through the crust and into powder. I adjusted my path, drifting toward the old riverbed. It wasn't the fastest route, but it was familiar, and there were places along the way where frost-wilted shrubs sometimes grew clusters of berries.

  I moved slower here, not from fatigue but because my thoughts were catching up to me. When I made those images in the cave, I wasn't sure he would understand. My illusions were instinctual. Quick things meant for scaring off or distracting intruders. I hadn't tried using them as a language before.

  I stopped beside a bent pine, its branches sheltering a narrow hollow in the snow. Beneath the frost-dusted needles, I nosed around the base. A few wilted leaves. Scattered pebbles. Nothing edible.

  I sighed through my nose and moved on.

  Illusions were what I had. For now, they were enough. Still, I wanted to try more. Push them further. What if I tried using my illusions to mimic his voice? That would be a much more effective method of communication than images. I've already heard him speak, so mimicking that wouldn't be hard, but I'd have to hear more words from him and learn how he pronounces them to really have a conversation.

  A slope in my path dipped and led into a shallow gully I hadn't visited in weeks. It was quiet here, a basin between ridges, and sometimes the wind missed this place entirely. Snow gathered deeper in the hollow, and the trees leaned inward.

  I remembered spotting berries here before. Not many. Just a few shrubs with roots deep enough to survive the frost, clinging to stones or tucked against the base of evergreens.

  I wanted to find something fresh. Something not shriveled or sour or half-frozen. It was still too early in the season for anything to be thriving, but even a handful of good berries would feel like progress.

  I moved slower now, scanning along the base of trees through exposed patches of frozen earth and clumps of last season's grass. The cold had hardened the ground, but where the snow had melted away, shoots of purple berries were beginning to show.

  They were bitter but edible. The berries hung in loose bunches, partially hidden beneath a curl of dry leaves.

  I stepped forward and sniffed. Faint scent, nothing spoiled. I bit gently into the base of the stem and tugged free one small cluster, cradling it carefully in my jaws. Not many. Four berries total. I could carry these and keep looking.

  I circled farther down into the hollow and found a second plant, which was tucked behind a rock and hidden in a nest of roots. The berries here were smaller, greenish with pale specks, but firm. Isaac might find them too sour, but he'd eat them. He was used to worse, judging by the state of that pack of his.

  I gathered what I could and continued my search, weaving through the trees, pausing occasionally to listen. There were no birds. No wind.

  Just snow, soft and settled, and the sound of my paws pushing through it.

  The air tasted clean. A little too still, but not in a way that made my fur bristle.

  So I kept moving, following the trees deeper into the woods, my breath forming soft clouds in the quiet, watching for color in the snow.

  The sun was climbing now. Weak light filtered through the canopy, barely enough to melt the frost lining the edges of the bark. My paws sank deeper into the snow as I traveled, but I didn't mind. I was used to the quiet weight of the forest beneath me.

  As I walked, the berries tucked gently into the curve of my tail, my thoughts drifted back to the cave.

  I padded between a cluster of evergreens, the branches brushing softly against my fur. The scent of old sap clung to the bark, mixed with frost and dust. I paused there for a moment and looked up. The sky had begun to shift, pale blue cutting through the gray.

  Isaac had spoken about where he came from. His stories still echoed in my head: stone streets, wide harbors, the smell of salt and smoke. It reminded me of where my family lived before we came here, though the memories are fuzzy. The feeling of nostalgia still feels fresh.

  Up ahead, the trees opened slightly into a wind-scoured rise. I climbed slowly, careful with my footing, the snow brittle and dry beneath me. From the top, I could see the low hills roll in every direction, soft with powder and untouched, save for the trails of passing Pokémon, some old, some newer.

  But nothing that worried me.

  The snow here was less disturbed, save for the occasional divot where something small had bounded through earlier in the day, like a Snorunt, maybe. Or a Bidoof. Nothing large. Nothing alarming.

  Still, I kept my senses alert, out of habit more than fear.

  I wasn't in a rush. The day was still early, and the forest gave no signs of a storm on the way. My pace was slow and deliberate. Every so often, I paused to sniff the air, but all I smelled was cold bark.

  As I walked, my mind drifted again.

  I tried to imagine what it felt like for a human to heal. I'd watched Pokémon recover from wounds in a matter of days, but never a human. How long does it take them to heal? A week? Two? More? I wasn't sure.

  There was something strange about caring this much. It was not just about whether he lived but how long until he could care for himself. Not because I wanted him gone but because I wanted to know how long I'd be part of this.

  As I descended the far side of the hill, I noticed a few things that pulled me slightly from my thoughts: small marks in the snow, faint, and nearly vanished under last night's wind. The curved impression of claws where something had landed and pushed off again.

  A passing Starly, maybe.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  I didn't react outwardly. Didn't change my pace or let the shift in my thoughts reach my posture. Nothing smelled wrong, nor was there any sound of motion that didn't belong.

  Just a few things out of place. The forest was big, and things passed through all the time. That didn't mean anything.

  I pressed on, ears twitching once.

  The forest sloped downward into a shallow hollow, its floor half-frozen and ringed with squat pine trees weighed down by snow. I stepped lightly between drifts, the powder giving beneath my paws.

  I was close to one of the berry thickets, an old patch I'd passed up during the last snowstorm. It wasn't a sure thing, but I remembered the shape of the roots, the way the ice never fully choked the stems. I hoped the cold had preserved a few clusters beneath the crusted snow.

  So I pushed deeper into the grove.

  The trees muffled the wind, and the snow thickened. Every step was careful. I passed a few dug-up spots, not mine, but I didn't stop to inspect them.

  I reached the thicket and knelt low. There are red berries glinting faintly beneath the ice. I started to nudge them free with my nose, careful not to bruise them.

  That's when I felt it. Not scent or sound, but instinct.

  A presence. Something close. Watching.

  I froze.

  At first, I saw nothing.

  Then movement.

  A shape behind the berry thicket, half-buried in the snow, its mottled body barely visible. Its claws twitched with a pair of mushrooms on its back pulsing faintly.

  A Paras.

  It lunged. A scraping, scrambling burst of motion, claws swinging, legs driving it forward through the snow.

  I leaped back just in time; the ice where I'd stood a moment before cracked under the force of its strike, gouged and torn. My paws hit the ground hard. I rolled, breath sharp in my throat, claws catching the frost-slick surface as I landed and righted myself.

  The Paras stumbled as it landed, claws twitching in the snow, its heavy body rocking off balance. The mushrooms on its back shivered violently, releasing a bitter, sharp scent like rotting bark.

  "Mine…" it rasped, breath hitching. "They're mine."

  Its eyes burned, not with fury, but something closer to panic. It didn't strike again right away. It waited, legs shaking, weight shifting from one side to the other.

  I didn't growl. Didn't puff up my fur.

  I stood tall, kept my eyes on it, muscles tight.

  "You'll take them," it hissed. Its voice was like dry leaves breaking underfoot. "All of them."

  It charged again, erratic this time, not with strategy but blind desperation.

  I slipped back along the slope, letting gravity help me. As I moved, I split off a flicker of myself, an illusion bolting left while I veered right.

  The Paras faltered, then lunged at the wrong me.

  "Not yours," it spat, dragging itself through the snow after the fading mirage.

  Another illusion peeled off from me, darting toward the trees.

  It whirled, eyes fixed on that flicker.

  It shrieked a brittle, broken noise and hurled itself forward.

  That was my moment.

  I gathered energy low and quiet beneath my ribs, a cold pulse threading through my limbs like mist curling through pine needles. The shadows beneath me thickened and stretched. Then, with a breath and a blink, I slipped into them.

  The world wavered and bent, and I was behind it.

  I struck in the same motion, a burst of spectral flame tearing from my paws and crashing squarely onto Paras's back.

  It staggered, flailing into a drift.

  "No!" it cried.

  It swung wide, blindly, but I was already gone, slipping through the shadow of my own breath, darting low across the snow like a ripple of smoke. I reappeared just behind it, claws trailing spectral light. Another strike lashed out from me, sharp and cold, sinking through its shell. Then another, quick and silent, flickering in and out as I wove between its frantic movements.

  It stumbled. Slower. Its legs skidded through the snow. The rasp in its breath deepened.

  "Don't—" it wheezed. "Please..."

  I landed lightly across the clearing. My breath puffed in soft clouds, steady but sharp.

  It approached me one last time, moving sluggishly.

  I struck again, power welling up inside me, drawn sharp and focused from the frayed edge of its panic. The air around us twisted, silent and thin. Then I released it.

  A wave of spectral pressure surged from me, colorless, soundless, but heavy. It hit like frost beneath the skin, slipping past defenses, cracking through its thoughts like ice splintering stone.

  The Paras cried out, not from pain alone, but from something it couldn't see. It staggered, legs scraping at the snow. I watched, steady and still, as its strength buckled under the weight of its own fear.

  The Paras collapsed, limbs folding beneath it. Not unconscious, but no longer a threat.

  It twitched once and tried to rise again. Failed. The mushrooms on its back pulsed, slow and unsteady. Its breath hitched, hoarse, and small.

  "I… I needed them," it whispered. "I was first..."

  I stood still, watching.

  Its body had curled in on itself, claws drawn close, its entire shape tight and sunken. No more threats. Just quiet.

  I stepped closer. It didn't move, didn't meet my eyes. It had lost the fight, and it knew it. I didn't finish it. I didn't need to.

  I turned away, paws silent in the snow, and crossed to the thicket. The berries waited cold-dusted, vibrant, pressed low into the frozen brush. I gathered them slowly, pulling each one free from the branch without haste.

  Then I returned.

  The Paras flinched when I stepped near again.

  I didn't get too close. I dropped a single red berry into the snow within reach.

  It stared at it and then at me.

  I held its gaze.

  "Don't come back," I said quietly. "I won't be so merciful next time."

  The Paras didn't argue, just laying there, trembling, eyes wide beneath the curve of its twitching mushrooms. The fight had gone out of it completely. I could still feel the tension humming through my muscles, but there was no need for more.

  I turned and walked away.

  Not fast. Not with triumph. Just steady, deliberate steps across the snow until the thicket of frostbitten brambles closed again around the clearing.

  I stood still for a while, ears perked, eyes scanning the trees just in case. Nothing stirred. Even the wind had softened.

  Then I went back to the berries. The ones I'd come for in the first place.

  One by one, I gathered them gently from beneath the frost. Not hurried.

  Not distracted. Just focused. The sting in my shoulder was a steady throb now, manageable.

  I didn't look back.

  Not until the last berry was tucked beneath my jaw, safe for the trip home.

  When I finally glanced over my shoulder, the clearing was empty.

  The Paras was gone.

  And I was alone again.

  I shifted the berries gently into a pile. There weren't many, but enough to call the search worthwhile. A few pink ones, surprisingly bright against the frost, some light blue berries, and two orange berries. I wonder if Isaac had a name for these, too.

  I nosed them onto a piece of bark I'd stripped from a fallen tree earlier and picked the bark up with my mouth, balancing the berries on it.

  The cold bit at my paws. My breath came steady now, no longer the sharp huff of combat. I turned back toward the slope. It was time to head home.

  I lowered my head and started the slow trek back up the incline. My thoughts drifted as I moved.

  Isaac should still be awake.

  Maybe we can try communicating again when I get back.