Violet and Piercing

Popping a single red berry into your mouth, you continue to work, opening your satchel with the other hand. The clasp of the leather buckle keeping your bag comes loose granting you access to its contents. Another berry is loaded up, thumb preparing to flick it up to join its consumed comrade, when the slightest disturbance is caught by your sensitive ears. Time seems to slow as you freeze, hand only half in your satchel, the second berry forgotten and sent tumbling to the ground. The sound, akin to the whipping of leaves, is growing louder the more you listen. It's only a second after you've pinpointed the noise that you realize, to your horror, it's not growing louder…

…but closer.

It's that single glimpse of clarity coupled with the instincts driven into you since birth that grant you the razor thin margin to react. Just as your head darts to the right, the wood beside you explodes into a hail of splinters. The expulsion of bark matter has you rolling out of the nook to land upon a thick branch a few feet below. After the shock wears off, one quick glance to the impact sight reveals a long, thin protrusion still vibrating where it struck the timber. The curious object looks to be a dart or sharpened quill of some kind, though the lingering threat demands you turn your attention from it. Shaking the residual splinters from your fur, you drop to a low stance and crain your ears to the once more silent forest.

With no other indication save for the projectile’s course, you stare hard through the torn leaves and twigs, **** to glean your attacker in the last embers of dusk. As the seconds tick by, nothing disturbs the faux tranquility, the breeze softly silting through the boughs seemingly the only thing you can detect. With ears craned forward hoping to catch another telltale warning should another shot be fired, you are instead greeted with a distant cry, far beyond the dense canopy.

The vocalization, similar in pitch to some of the calls you’ve heard used by avian pokemon, is a sharp piercing sound that appears to originate from overhead rather than the direction of the launched quill. Still far off, you posit that the aggressor must be airborne high about the trees, possibly attempting to circle around you. With no other clues to the whereabouts of this unseen foe, you choose to play it cautiously and wait until the next strike to orient yourself.

You won’t have to wait long as that vicious whipping of something ripping through the vegetation is heard almost directly over top of you, granting only a fraction of a second to dodge further down the trunk. This time it is the ground that feels the wrath of these oddly shaped barbs, as you bear witness to another spray of debris having only just taken cover hanging beneath a thicker branch. As you dangle there, heart still beating a hole in your chest, the worrying realization that this thing was able to target you accurately at distance and through the cover of foliage threatens to break your focus.

“Don’t freeze..!” You silently scold yourself. “Stick to cover and draw them in…!”

With a rudimentary plan forming in your head, your concentration is rattled somewhat as another shill cry assaults your senses, this time much closer and to the rear of the tree you’re clinging onto. Seeing this as a chance to use the hard truck to shield your retreat, you ensure your belongings are still where they should be and propel yourself to another nearby tree. Attempting to keep your limbs slack to soften your landing, you’re able to touchdown on the nearest branch with barely a whisper before ducking into an opportune crease in the crook of the trunk, obscuring yourself as best you can.

Your gambit is successful, you find, as another arrow crashes into the spot where you had been lounging previously. A small grin forms upon your lips as this unknown pokemon had just revealed two things. Firstly, that it had been blind firing since the initial shot, and most importantly, that it had lost your trail. With the advantage of surprise lost, all you had to do was wait. Either for the pokemon to lose interest and leave, or to come in for a closer scan wherein you could turn the tables. Your eyes focus on the scene of destruction that was once your comfy shelter, and tense your muscles to strike at a moment's notice.

And so you wait…

And wait…

… and wait…

So much so that the stress in your limbs begins to ache, and the sounds of undisturbed evening air stretch on once more. Eyes beginning to wander as the stillness of the night causes doubt to creep back into your mind, you feel the ache of lungs begging for a fresh breath since you’d hidden away. You could deny them a bit longer, though, and do so to ensure that you were once again alone.

Perhaps they’ve left..?

A hopeful notion that dares to put your nerves at ease. One that unfortunately won’t last considering the ear wrenching screech from on high that accompanies the tumultuous battering of greenery above. Your lungs certainly get their fill, a horrified gasp escaping you as the rocketing pokemon streaks by, their descent marked by a bright green glow that envelops the fluffy plumage of their wings. You thank whatever fates allowed you to avoid the attack in time as a heap of branches and twigs of various sizes drop before you, all finely cut by those razor edged wings. Any thoughts that this might be a random strike are dashed as the owl-like pokemon comes out of their furious dive to flip in the air and face you directly, violet eyes burning with unrepentant anger.

The bird, mostly light brown with a cream colored crest appears to be wearing a leafy mantle atop their head that obscures most of their face. This only accentuates the vibrantly glowing violet irises within, which sends a shiver through your slender frame. You match the avian's glare as he, based on the slightly fluffier patch of down between his legs, continues to hold position slightly below you with practiced flaps of his eerily silent arm wings. The pair of you measure one another, both waiting for the other to move.

Evidently, he tires of the staring contest before you do, your only warning coming in the form of his narrowing eyes. With a single, powerful pump of his arms, he closes the gap between you with a battle shriek, those dangerous wings shining a neon green yet again. You are expecting it this time, and it’s a simple matter to leap the charge to find a safer limb opposite the carnage. Again you are in awe of the strength of the winged cleave as the top of the old elm you’d been standing in is sheared clean through, causing hundreds of pounds of wood matter to plummet to the ground below.

You aren’t given long to marvel however, as the illuminated owl circles quickly, by all accounts unaffected by the failed lunge, and takes a hardline course toward you. The bright coloration makes it easy to track his movements against the now darkened sky and you prepare to dodge the swoop once more before countering with a kick of your own. It is, naturally, more than a little alarming when the energy lined wings suddenly snuff out leaving only the inky blackness of night before you.

The shock of losing your target coupled with the light burned splotch now plaguing your eyes is more than sufficient to send you into a blind panic. In a whirl of clumsy back steps, you manage to lose your sure footing, almost dropping straight off the limb. Your staggered state is immediately capitalized upon as a (thankfully) blunt shoulder tackle knocks you from the branch to send you cascading toward the forest floor.

That is, until you feel the tight clasp of a taloned paw wrap around your ankle before flinging you back onto the bough in a heap. Still wheezing from the rough hit that knocked you from your perch, your attempts to stand are interrupted as that same hind talon kicks up into your chest, propelling you into the trunk behind you. Barely able to stay upright even with the support of the bark at your flank, you can do nothing but close your eyes against the zygodactyl hind paw rushes toward you. The bite of those dagger-like talons never come, though the heavy sole to your chest makes you **** on a ragged gasp of air. The fatal blow failing to land, you gulp a few much desired breaths of oxygen before having the will to open your eyes to what new hell awaits.

The scene is about as terrible as you could hope for. The taloned owl claw is splayed in an “X” with the front facing spurs embedded in the wood over your shoulders less than an inch from your neck on either side. The rear barbs similarly clench just under your arms, effectively pinning you to the tree. Tracing the puffy, though obviously toned leg back up to its owner, he appears to be in a bit of a leaning stance, allowing for the application of more pressure should you decide to **** the issue. You can see his still simmering violet scowl though it is overshadowed somewhat by the large quill arrow, seemingly knocked by one of the two strings hanging from his hood and aimed directly at your face.

Seeing you’re quite literally a single twitch from having your good looks irreparably ruined, you do the only thing you are able. Ever so slowly, your arms slide up the tree behind you, those purple peepers following your movements the entire way, until they are extended above you. It is hard to gauge your attacker's expression behind the rim of the emerald hood, but you are certain you see the faintest hint of a grin. Still holding tight to both you and his projectile should prove to be a troublemaker, you watch as his beak parts and he precedes to: