Prim falls backward into her cushy bed with a loud
poff, the duvet fluffing up around her. She basks in its comfort with her eyes shut, groaning in pleasure as she stretches her back. Years sleeping on the ground have put her back through so much for so long that she barely even notices it's hurting anymore, but the relief of resting it on a well-made mattress is unparalleled.
The gate to Princess's paddock creaks. Whoever assigned the rooms here had been kind enough to provide them with one for an enclosed pen to contain the creature. Judging by the immaculate state of its wood board flooring, it seems someone had come to clean up her droppings while they were away. The luxuries of this place continue to put her on edge just as much as they amaze her. Part of her still wants to bolt before things kick off. She feels like she's walking into a trap. But this world is strange and foreign to her; perhaps this is normal in this part of the world. Maybe she should ask that Steven fellow what he thinks. He seemed... worldly. He'd even asked to meet Ferry. That had surprised her. Most people simply wanted him out of the way.
She opens her eyes and finds the lucario sitting in Princess's pen. The goat is in his lap, munching vacantly on a wad of hay, and his eyes are closed as he hugs her with one arm and strokes her leaves with the other. Probably meditating. Prim smiles. She likes seeing him this way, at peace. It isn't common. Seems like this vacation is doing him some good, too.
"How do you think Lauchs is doing," he says abruptly, cracking one eye open at Prim. She looks away from him and to the ceiling, inverting her smile into a frown. Did he sense that she was looking fondly at him? God, that was embarrassing.
"You could throw that duck in a dungeon and he'd find a way to have a good time, damn him," Prim says. "I'm sure Scout is keeping him in line."
Ferry scoffs. "Yeah, right..."
A long time ago, in a region far, far away...
The forest clearing flickers with orange light, the air heavy with the fragrant scent of cooking onions. Four bulbs sit on the red coals at the edge of the campfire, their bottoms charred and their skins glossy brown. Lauchs pokes gently at one with a stick, his blue eyes shimmering in the firelight.
"These are just about done," he declares, and he rolls one toward him and rubs his wings together with anticipation. "Watch this, Scout. I promise, this will amaze you."
The gogoat is curled up as far away from the fire as he can be while still benefiting from its warmth. He snorts but otherwise ignores Lauchs.
"Very well, Scout. Your loss. Hiyah!" He chops the onion martial arts-style with a wing. A puff of steam emerges from the top as the onion splits into so many petals, looking more like a lotus than a vegetable. Lauchs gingerly plucks one of its petals and tosses it into his beak, closing his eyes to fully savor the flavor. "Delicious." He cracks the remaining three bulbs open in the same way, crying "hiyah!" each time, then claps his wings. "Dinner is served."
The gogoat lifts its head, finally, and surveys Lauchs's work. He stands up and shakes the dirt off his pelt, and Lauchs is briefly delighted that he has captured the goat's attention—they can bond at last, Prim will be so pleased!—but the goat trots even further from the fire and lays back down, facing away from Lauchs. The light of the flames dance off his pelt, and from this distance the goat looks more like a bush than an animal.
Lauchs scowls deeply and picks up a basket, then throws the rest of his onion into his mouth at once, juices dripping onto his beard as he approaches Scout. "Fine then. If you're not going to enjoy this lovely meal with me, at least make yourself useful." He tosses the basket onto the ground next to Scout. "The fire is getting low. Go find some firewood for me. You big lout." Scout lifts his head and gives Lauchs a flat look, his ear flicking and his tail swishing. "Well?"
The goat stares at him a moment longer, then gets up and resignedly slips the basket's rope handle around his neck so the basket dangles just below his chest. He snorts as if to emphasize his irritation, then turns around towards the forest, making sure to kick up dirt and leaves from the forest floor onto Lauchs as he trots away.
Lauchs growls and fluffs up his beard to twice its regular size, sending the detritus flying off it. He marches back to the fire with a frown and forcefully resumes his position on his log-seat to warm his feathers. "What a stiff creature," he grumbles. "Just like his mother. Ah well, more for me." He swipes up a second onion and chomps about half of it off in a single bite. He makes quick work of the rest of it, pouting the whole time, then reaches for the third, but stops himself.
Eating all the onions would be admitting defeat. No, the goat will come around. Lauchs will make sure of it. No one can resist a good fetch'd-style onion forever.
Freshly determined, he enjoys the fire's warmth for a few seconds, but his gaze falls longingly back on the onion before long. Well... perhaps he should hedge his bets a bit. Surely Scout will be fine with one onion, right? Yes, that seems reasonable. He polishes off the third onion before he can talk himself out of it, then nudges the fourth one a little closer to the flames to keep it warm.
Yes, he'll come around.
- - -
Scout picks up a branch with his mouth and presses down on it a little to test its strength and ensure it isn't rotted, then drops it into the basket. It's about half-full now. He doesn't really want to be doing this, but it's better than lying around and enduring the duck man's ceaseless harassment. He trots a little deeper into the woods and finds a plump mushroom growing at the base of a tree. After ensuring its edibility with a good sniff or two, he plucks it from the ground and feasts. Mmm. Much better than onion.
The temperature of the air drops suddenly. Not naturally. Scout swings his head up, ears lifted, the leaves on his pelt laying flat against each other to preserve warmth. He sniffs the air, checking for a predator, but doesn't sense anything out of the ordinary. Trepidly he proceeds, leaves crunching under his hooves. He finds another good stick, and after a good while he slowly lowers his head to pick it up.
Something crashes into his flank, and he barely stops himself from toppling over. His pelt-leaves stand on edge, and he fires a barrage of them in all directions, but none of them seem to hit anything. His instinct is to run back to the fire—but no. He won't return fearfully to the duck man's side, defeated by this simple task. Instead he bolts in a random direction, the sticks in his basket jolting with each step.
The air is becoming like ice.
The thing appears in front of him, a big shadowy wall, its red eyes and spectral grin glowing in the dark. Forest spirit. Scout averts course to avoid it, navigating deftly past trees and leaping over rotting logs. It appears in front of him again and again, and each time Scout darts out of its way, until—
He finds himself face-to-face with a wide ravine. Too far to jump, to deep to plunge into without probably breaking an ankle. He turns around, breaths ragged, and the forest spirit is closing in on him. Scout backs up as far as he can, but one of his legs swipes empty air, and he sucks in a breath and drags himself away from the precipice, his pelt rising up.
The forest spirit cackles. Scout fires another barrage of leaves at it. They form ripples in the spirit's silhouette, but it doesn't appear harmed or even fazed by them. Useless.
Still it pushes in closer to him.
Only one thing left to try. He charges at the spirit and
rams it with his horns. His head phases through the shadowy wall. It feels like he's covered in freezing syrup. He lets out a breath and it puffs out in front of him, visible in the frigid air, then streams past his face. Not a second later he's
flung back out of the wall by an invisible force and skids across the ground to the precipice of the ravine. His sticks skitter everywhere.
Scout's eyes dart between the chasm and the spirit as he pulls himself up. Chasm, spirit. Which fate is worse? His breaths come faster and faster.
He begins to yell. Noctowl and murkrow alight from their roosts as the air rings with his screams.
It doesn't seem to matter. The spirit's terrible laughter drowns out his cries.
Scout's legs twitch, wishing to bolt, and he has to consciously resist the urge. It would be death. But won't he die anyway?
Of course this should happen as soon as Prim leaves. Why did she abandon him? Why did she leave him all alone with this stupid duck man? Scout thought he would grow old with his master. They would always be together, and she would make tea from his leaves, and he would be happy just as he had been for these last few years forever. Now he was going to be pushed into a ravine and feasted upon by a forest spirit. And the last face he will have seen is that foolish, foolish—
The spirit's smile recedes into a frown, and its whole mass contorts around something that rips through it. Something... green?
The spirit squirms and then consolidates its mass into a familiar egg shape, its face knotted up in anger. Behind it stands the duck man, his vegetable-sword extended, a glimmer in his eyes.
"Have at ye, gengar!" he cries, and he swipes with his sword again. It should phase through it or be repelled, like Scout's horns and leaves, but it actually collides with the spirit as though it's a regular object. The spirit recoils, and Scout shudders as spikes of frost form on his leaves.
The duck man and the spirit trade blows for a while until the spirit abruptly seizes the sword and casts it aside. Without missing a beat, the duck man raises his wings like fists and bats at the spirit. His wings unfold as he smacks the spirit about, and they're longer than Scout would have guessed.
Before long the spirit bellows with frustration and lunges for the duck man's face. In a single fluid motion he steps out of the way and palms the back of the creature's head in a way that shouldn't be possible as it flies forward where he had been standing just a moment earlier. Redirecting the spirit's momentum, he smashes its face into a tree. Splinters fly from the collision point as the spirit shrieks, and then it dissipates. Silence. Then the air becomes warm again.
Scout is shaking, still mere inches from the edge of the canyon. The duck man's chest heaves with his breaths. Then he looks to Scout and flashes a smile.
"Find any good sticks?"
Scout blinks, then looks down at the sticks that have been scattered across the ground. The duck man spares not a moment getting on his knees and gathering them up, then placing them in Scout's basket. He pats him on the head. "Nice work, old goat. Now let's get back and throw these in the fire. We shouldn't leave it unattended too long."
Scout pulls himself to his feet and follows the duck man back to the fire, still shaking. The duck man gets to work restoring the dwindling embers into a roaring flame, then sits back on his log and plucks the last onion off the ground. "Looks like you went for quite the jog," he says, glancing at the goat's quaking knees. "Feeling hungry? I saved this for you."
Scout approaches cautiously and takes a small bite of the onion from the duck man's hand, then quickly eats the rest. It... is tastier than the mushroom.
"That's a good lad," the duck man says, stroking Scout's pelt. It feels nice. The goat cautiously lowers himself to the ground, feeling weak, and lets the warmth of the flame wash over him and melt the frost from his leaves. His eyelids begin to droop and the exhaustion hits him all at once. He absently places his head in the duck man's lap, enjoying the pats.
"I know, I know, old boy," the duck man says. "It's rough out here without your friends, eh? I miss them too."
He drifts into sleep.
"Hopefully they aren't making too much of a mess for us to clean up when we return," Prim remarks. She grins, then adds, "Who knows? Maybe they're chumming it up by a nice fire right now."
Ferry laughs. "Maybe they did put something in the food earlier. It's addled your brain."
"Yeah." Prim looks back up at the ceiling and puts her arms behind her head. "Probably."
