Ash's Arc

Chapter 6 of 14

The frost crept toward Ash's sleeping team. He stepped between them and the white beast, badge still tight in his fist. The pig lifted its head, ears twitching. The mouse blinked awake on Ash's shoulder. Both were too spent to fight. Ash knew it. The hooded figure knew it too. "They can't battle," Ash said. "Look at them. Give me a night. I'll meet you at dawn." "No." The figure did not move. The sabertooth crouched, ice spreading under its paws. "Now, or I take them. My ringed one already knows your face. This ends here." Ash's throat went dry. He would not order his exhausted Pokémon into a losing fight. But he would not let them be taken either. His eyes swept the ring's edge and found the old tree behind him. Its bark had grown into the shape of a hound, sad-eyed, moss on its snout. Beyond it stretched dark trees. A weathered sign leaned in the dirt. Forest of the Forgotten Dogs. Ash scooped the pig into his arms. "Then you'll have to catch us." He grabbed the mouse and ran for the trees. "Coward," the figure called. The white beast roared and gave chase. Ash crashed into the forest. Cold breath hissed behind him. He ran past twisted trunks carved like sleeping dogs, their worn faces watching. Roots grabbed at his boots. The mouse clung to his collar. The pig's ember tail flickered weak against his chest. He ducked behind the hound-shaped tree and pressed his back to its trunk. The sabertooth prowled into the clearing. Its head turned, hunting. Frost coated the ground. It could not see him yet. Ash whispered to the mouse. "One spark. Not the beast. The moss." He pointed at the dry moss strung between the branches above. The mouse's cheeks glowed. A thin thread of lightning snapped upward. The old wood caught. Fire raced along the dead branches and rained embers down between Ash and the white beast. The sabertooth flinched back from the flames. Fire beat ice here. Cold air met heat and turned to steam, thick and white. Ash could not see the beast. The beast could not see him. "Hurry," he breathed. He ran deeper, the smoke hiding his tracks. The pig stirred and pressed closer, trusting. Behind them the figure shouted through the haze. The voice grew thin, then lost. Ash did not stop until his legs failed. He knelt in the dark among the sad wooden hounds. The mouse slid down, panting. The pig looked up at him, eyes clear now, no longer asking if he believed. He had not won. He had not earned a night's rest. He had chosen to run, and it cost him the stranger's respect. But his team breathed. His team was whole. The badge still sat in his fist. He pressed his hand to the pig's back. "We're not ready for that one," he said. "So we get ready. Then we come back."