The wind blew to the north from the peak of Mt. Chimney, and because of that, clouds of ash drifted from the lava fields at its top to leave the fields to the east of Fallarbor coated in a thick layer of soft grayness. For some, it projected a feeling of tranquility with flakes falling like fresh snow gently to the earth. Others enjoyed rushing through it, brushing the green grass beneath it free from their dusty coats for a few precious moments. And for others, it was the ideal place to practice stealth, to hide among the ash piles for unsuspecting passersby – or, in the case of the occasional small pokémon, to hide from predators.
For that reason, it wasn't at all unusual for a spinda to wobble along and come in contact with a sandshrew. The latter's ears twitched, and he lifted his head to swivel his dark eyes towards the dancing bear. She stared at him for awhile with her spiral eyes, watching with a short giggle as the sandshrew rose to his haunches. One yellow paw reached down to the edge of his burrow in preparation for slinging some of the ash and dirt at the panda, but before he could, he turned his head away from her sharply, towards another form of commotion. Spinda turned herself in the same direction, just in time to see a cloud of dust rising in a zig-zag across the field not far away. A buzzing rose from it as it darted closer and closer to the two. With a pair of shrieks, the sandshrew and the spinda jumped into movement: the sandshrew frantically burrowed out of sight, while the spinda stumbled drunkenly away.
By some miracle, the cloud and the ixodida within it missed them both by a few seconds.
For the past three minutes, Bill had been in a frantic flight away from an attacker. It took two of those minutes to realize that perhaps flying low to gain cover by kicking up ash was a bad idea because it had the unfortunate side-effect of rendering him blind as well. The third minute was currently being spent trying to figure out how to gain altitude without slamming into the ground while at the same time avoiding obstacles he couldn't see. Needless to say, he quickly found he wasn't particularly good at the entire concept of flying.
Jerking to the side at the sight of a sudden shadow, Bill managed to miss a boulder by a few inches while at the same time clipping the ear of another wandering spinda with one of his wings. The latter tottered away with terrified cries while Bill found himself scrambling to regain balance. Unfortunately, physics won out, and he soon found himself tumbling head-over-heels for several feet as his wings uselessly beat against the ground. Finally, he stopped only by slamming his back upside-down against a rather large rock, leaving his legs in the air and his shoulders supporting him on the ground. For several moments, the impact left him silent as pain jolted through every part of his body.
"Remind me never to do that again," Bill murmured to Adam with a groan.
Slowly, he twisted, carefully pulling his legs back towards the ground as his hands pushed against the rock for support. He shakily rose to his feet and winced as he placed a hand on the small of his sore back. With shuffling movements, he turned just in time to see his pursuer hop into view.
The whismur stood a few feet in front of him. Her crossed eyes fixed on him as her small paws rose to her mouth. Bill froze, his eyes widening as he turned completely towards her. He lifted one hand, palm outward, as he backed against the rock.
"Now, hold on," he said. "I'm not ready to—"
She took a deep breath, opened her mouth as wide as possible, and screamed. Instantly, Bill yelped, covering his ears with both hands. The act left him without an anchor against the rest of the blast: the air itself as it vibrated in a wave. It crashed against him, launching him backwards, off his feet and into the rock behind him. He smacked into the hard surface and remained pinned until the whismur finally stopped. After that point, he fell limply to his knees first and then, finally, face-down into the ground.
Satisfied, the whismur closed her mouth. Bill turned his head, squinting as spots clouded his sight for a long while. He could vaguely make out colored blobs appearing in his line of vision, but it didn't register to him what they were until he heard a voice.
"How many does that make now?" Veronica asked. "Six?"
She knelt beside him. He heard something scrape – the sound of a cap twisting off the top of a bottle – just before ice-cold fresh water drenched his head. Jolting, he pulled away and struggled to force himself to his knees. He glared at her as he played with his soaked ear, trying to toy water out.
"Yes," he said dryly. "It's the sixth time. I never knew battling would be so difficult. Rosie's whismur is well-trained."
Veronica stood and capped the canteen. "Hmph. Don't blame the whismur for the fact that you're lame. It defeated you six times in a row, Bill."
