Free and Away Once More

The sun, paying no mind to the turbulent times far below its eternal radiance, gently rises to usher in the new day. So comes the dawn, followed by the morning, and eventually giving way to rather muggy noon. The recent rains must have given the land a proper soak as the air feels thick, each breath more akin to a gulp hearty broth than a gasp of oxygen. Most of these developments go unnoticed by you, still lost to a dreamless slumber as the midday sun continues to bake the forest. The day has long since past its zenith by the time you finally shake the weariness of the previous night from your limbs. Eyes creaking open mid stretch, you’re well into your third yawn when your hazy mind confirms that you are not, in fact, inside a feral’s belly as the steamy afternoon air would suggest.

When the last of the numbness is **** from your form, a quick kick up flips you to a firm stand upon the wood. Taking note of the time, you wager there's a few hours before the sky begins to lose its brilliance. As much as you'd like to deal with the irritating rumble in your empty stomach, the priority is to, at long last, turn a proper eye to the map Chieftain Lyra had prepared.

As you retrieve the item from your satchel, the strip of bark feels heavy in your grip. You gingerly turn the piece over in your hands, treating the hastily produced plank as if it were a precious artifact. With the soft underside facing up, your eyes roam about the roughly scrawled lines that informed your path. Starting from the bottom left as Lyra had instructed, you can see a small red dot, likely representing Cove Crest as it sits upon the winding shoreline.

Continuing upwards and to the right along the plotted course, marked by red dashes, you observe the line weaving through a large grouping of trees, assumed to be the Great Expanse, which has served as your home for the last year. Denoted by tiny triangles the Expanse takes up much of the southwestern corner of the map. It is a little disheartening to see just how much of the forest you'd left unexplored over the months, as crude wavy lines seem to mark various unfamiliar landmarks. Curiously, Lyra has left a bold, blacked circle around the easternmost edge of the southern woods, an unsettling black gash running through its center. “Perhaps a warning?”, you wonder to yourself.

You decide it's best not to dwell on unknowns and return your attention to the dashes leading out of the Expanse and toward the northeast. You wince as the triangle trees give way to what seems to be long stretches of grassy plains, depicted as straight vertical lines. To your dismay, this area seems to cover almost as much of the map as the Expanse.

“Flatlands…”

The word tastes bitter in your mouth, and the memories of the few expeditions the clan made through that terrain came flooding back to the forefront of your mind. Overall the trips had been little more than scouting missions, mostly for salvageable resources and a new source of stone for the tool makers. While the excursions never came to ****, you could never forget the looming sense of unease that came from watching the treeline disappear behind your group. Though your nervous demeanor had been a source of endless humor for the party, you recall feeling oddly reassured when a certain Sneasel had clapped you on the back.

“No worries, scaredy cat”, a younger Rahken had quipped, a condescending sarcasm thick in his tone. “I'll protect you from the mean old grass, hah!” Naturally this went over very well with the rest of the group, bringing about another round of mockery from the older clanmates. Still, despite being the butt of the joke, the mirth did alleviate much of the concern in your mind. You even had enough wit to clap back.

“You mean like how I saved you from that ‘widdle birdie’ last month?”

The unexpected retort from the runt of the pack drew its own share of laughs and jeers now directed at the boastful Sneasel, though it never dulled that perfect grin he always seemed to wear.

“Fair enough squirt,” he calmly replied, that cocky attitude entirely unfazed, “though that ‘birdie’ had talons twice the size of your head. Also…”

He had taken a worrying step toward you, letting his word linger in the air.

“... one might say you were just lucky enough to exploit the distraction I created.”

A hush fell over the group as the pair of you shared a silent glare.

Another step would bring the man to stand tall before you, that ever present grin curling ever so slightly in the face of your defiance. Despite being only two months your senior, he had always seemed to tower over anyone in conversation. A sudden, heavy slap would sting your shoulder as Rahken clasped it tight, and gave it a playful (by the clans standards) shake as he announced,

“Like a true warrior of the Claw!”

A cheer went up for his declaration and you even felt a speck of pride for it, feeling as though you'd passed some kind of test. You knew better now, though, what kind of pokemon Rahk had been all along. With more **** than you intended, you shake the tainted reminiscences from your thoughts as you return your gaze to the map.

Flanking the grasslands to the northwest and far east were a series of jagged lines, likely mountains, if you recalled what your few trader friends had shared. The relative safety among the crags allowed for little hamlets to make their home along the base of the northern range, though you knew nothing of the larger range sketched to the east.

Regardless, the guiding red dashes cross right between them to exit the grasslands. Its journey then comes to an end with a satisfying ‘X’ nestled between the clover shaped trees, marking the Ginkgo Grove. An assured nod completes your in depth examination of the map, your mind already committing much of it to memory should the worse come to pass.

With the course forward charted and weariness cast from your waking mind, you decide to take care of the grumbling in your belly next. With one practiced swipe, your satchel is wrapped tight to your side once more, map and all. With a similarly brief look to the falling sun to set your path, you launch yourself in the direction of the northeastern woods, deciding to get dinner as you go.

The peaceful quiet of the next few days, while unexpected, was very welcome nonetheless. With the mornings filled with cautious, tree-hopping travel, the evenings are made all the more pleasant as you're able to take advantage of the solitude. By the fourth night, your satchel swells with fresh berries from your travels, at least a couple days worth by your thinking! As you nosh upon a fat orange berry (a new, deliciously sweet variety that you'll have to find more of!), the map again sits idle in your lap. Though you are certain you could recall each and every detail of the etching by now, still its study consumes your evenings.

All of the unknowns and ‘what ifs’ that might have given your pause just a week ago, now prompt your imagination to run wild. Lyra, as she honestly stated, wasn't the best artist... While you will forever be indebted to her for the map and sense of purpose she instilled, there were still large patches of her carving that were left blank, likely out of haste. These blank spaces intrigued you most of all. You wanted to know what was there, NEEDED to know the secrets they held.

Perhaps within those bits of bark unmarred by Lyra’s hand lay hidden a bountiful meadow that offered every kind of berry you had yet to sample! Or a winding valley obscured by a gentle mist, begging to be navigated and charted. Maybe, somewhere out in the lands lost to memory, you might even discover the falling water…

As a young Sneasel, far too small to be selected for service, you would spend some nights listening to the tales of those who roamed. Back when Elder Loric's word meant something to you, he had spoken of a place that assailed the senses. Where water in immeasurable quantities flowed right over the cliffs to crash upon the rocks below. Your former chieftain had spat each word with contempt, decrying the natural formation for the cacophony its descent caused. While most agreed with him that the loss of one's sensitive hearing far outweighed any benefit it might grant, you were enraptured all the same.

A place where all encompassing thunder could shake the listener to their core. A place that allowed a land bound element to fly and become more than nature allowed. A place…

“Of falling water.”

Your words are spoken to none but yourself and the breeze whistling through the leaves as you finish your juicy dinner. The bark slips comfortably back into place amongst the trove of fruity rations within your satchel. Deciding on wanting an early start the next morning, you turn in for the night, dreaming of the day when finally the crisis has passed and the lands left free to explore.