Your eyes are slow to adjust to the new lumination that the dawn has brought forth. While you enjoy the sunrise, the light slightly stings your naturally nocturnal eyes. After letting your teary gaze fall from the now fully visible sun, you begin your decent from the branchs of an aged oak that served as your resting place. You let out a sigh of relief as your graceful dismount end with your feet planted firmly beneath you. As you stretch the sleep from your joints, you think on how good it freel to have a full nights rest. As fun as narrowly escaping the insides of infected is, you must admit that an energizing rest still takes the cake.
With the morning fast departing, you finish your meal of roots and dew water ( a meal, unsatisfying even by your standards...) and begin your walk against the sun. Having been traveling east since your encounter, you hope to find out more about the infection from the coastal villages. You reason that those town, protected by water, may have the most likely chance of survivors.
"Safety...", you mutter aloud, "Is there such a thing in this world of uncertainty?" Untimely death was not so an uncommon thing even before the plague. You think back to your own harsh upbringing, remembering when you were forced to watch as your own kin ambushed and murdered a Fearow couple. When told to feed on the un-hatched eggs left orphaned, your so-called parents flew into a rage at your refusal. Their punishment was nothing compared to the memory of the merciless slaugther you bared witness to. Were the others that had been raised the same? Were there more pokemon with bright futures dashed by the dark traditions of their peers? With your less than encouraging thoughts swirling inside, you push on.
As midday came and went without a problem, you decide to get your bearings and then pause for a quick rest. Wasting no time, your nimble fingers latch onto the bark of a nearby evergreen and you bound up the tree. Dispite your feelings towards your homeland, you were thankful that your people had so valued the art of climbing. You never knew a joy greater than that of leaping from bough to branch. Feeling the air whip past your face, the gentle touch of leaves as your flew past, the firm grip provided by the bark under the flesh of your hands and soles of your feet... It was amazing. It was what you believed flying must feel like for the avians of the world. You let your light expression fade back into seriousness as you reach the highest branch that can still support your weight. You look out into the sea of nature and just barely make out the treeline far to your east.
Almost there... About another full day's run.
With renewed vigor, you half run half drop down the side of the tree. Dodging branches and knots on your way down, you snap your legs against the wood just before smashing into the ground. Going into a hard roll, you sustain some cuts and a bruise, both of which do little to sour your newfound optimism. With your heart pumping from the controlled fall, your dart about your chosen campsite, looking for both signs of life and bits of nourishment. Before long, you are carrying a few rolled leaves with berries your good fortune allowed you to stumble upon. You relax with your snack in one of the holds upon the evergreen, unaware of the eyes watching you from one of the higher limbs...  | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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