(male pokemon pred, cock focus)
You consider fleeing from the Zebstrika now... but this poses the risk of agitating the striped stallion, and would leave you no better off than when you started your treck to the south. In fact, it would leave you in a decidedly worse position. You've lost track of which way you were headed in the first place. But you don't want to announce yourself to the creature, either. That, too, could prove disastrous. It does not take long for a third option to crystallize in your mind. You could take shelter beneath it. As long as the Zebstrika isn't agitated, he will likely move at a fairly slow gait. You should be able to take shelter from other Pokemon beneath it. No flying type in its right mind is going to peck at you, and you doubt a farmhound would be sent after it unless it misbehaved. And, at the moment at least, the groggy steed is unlikely to cause trouble.
You keep a healthy distance as the Zebstrika's snores transform into snorts, and then grumbles. After a few minutes of waiting, the creature's eyes ease open, and at last it begins to stand. Its hooves pound mighty ear-rattling quakes against the ground as its hooves smash against the soil. One of them veers farther than you expected and smashes down right in front of you, sending you tumbling down with a timid squeak, your ears still ringing when you finally make it back to your feet. Finally recovering from the impact, you see that the Zebstrika has not yet shifting into motion . It is shaking its body clean of dirt and other debris. In fact, some of that dirt is sprinkling down onto you.
Not wanting to risk getting clobbered by a falling pettle, you scurry underneath the zebstrika, quickly making your way between its rear hooves. You timidly walk past one of the hooves... a hoof big enough to smash a car flat, possibly even a small building. The Zebstrika would have no problem crushing you in one stomp. In fact, it might not even notice your presence. More remarkable than the hoof you see before yo is what you don't see. Its forehooves are too far off, too obscured by grass, for you to see. The patch of grass eclipsed beneath the creature's underside is large compared to you... perhaps large enough to be a gridiron football field, though you aren't quite brushed up on Unovan sports. Were you to freeze time, somehow, you wouldn't mind having a base of operations this large.
It is a humbling thought. The Zebstrika may well be a god. A distant, aloof, unaware one, who exerts its authority merely by being. You begin to find yourself entertaining the prospect of actually residing indefinitely in the creature's shadow. You would a mighty, if oblivious, protector, and would likely be able to scavenge for crumbs beneath it. As if in response to your musings, the Zebstrika allows a thunderous fart to emerge from its backside, its tail growing animated, wavering against the wind its body produced. Its equine aroma ...its 'aura' amplifies threefold. In the process, your mind grows foggier. You cough and curl forward, doing your best to fan away the scent with one of your hands. And as you do, you hear the distinct soundss of the Zebstrika's hoofs clopping against the dirt. It is advancing forward, paying its prior fart no heed, affording it no comment save for a vague grunt.
As you do your best to keep pace beneath the Zebra Pokemon, the scent of the fart begins to subside, simply due to the massive horse moving away from ground zero. But the scent doesn't fully go away. It clings to your body, as if you were marked by the horse . Now that the aroma has faded, you find yourself admiring the wisdom of your godlike protector. Yes, running away from the scent was certainly more effective than fanning it away. You find yourself fully committing to the scavenger-symbiote mentality you've adopted. Finding no superior alternative, you decide to follow the steed to the ends of the earth, presumably making way whenever it lies down, resting as it rests, and stirring awake whenever it wakes up. That the creature could run away at any time does occur to you, but you could only imagine you'd be able to make your way back to the Zebra at one point, or transfer to another god if necessary.
As you walk beneath the creature, you turn your gaze up...and quickly realize you probably should not have done so. You first notice its underbelly and forelegs. While not as powerful as its hind legs, its massive limbs are impressively bulky, clearly backed by a powerful mix of fat, bone, and muscle. The thought of a a Machamp (at least, one your size) taking this thing on in even battle. seems laughably absurd. And it s underbelly... how many of you could this creature's stomach hold? A hundred? A thousand? Would it even notice you if it devoured you whole?
But the thought of winding up in its belly is only a distant possibility to you, something you can only vaguely imagine. Something far more visible is the presence of its astonishingly large cock. Its girth is black as obsidian, but with the same zig-zagging white-as-cloud stripes that mark the rest of its body, acting almost like warning marks for any who would consider handling it or, worse, taking it. It has to be four, five, possibly even six times your body height. You begin to wonder if the creature had been grinding itself against the soil in the slumber. Surely it must be erect. But upon further inspection -you cannot avert your gaze from it, though you know you should- you find that it is not at all erect. No, this thing's girth is this large flaccid. If the sight of its trampling hooves and the mind-falteringly intense effects of its flatulence hadn't emasculated you already, the scale of its girth certainly did.
You lower your head, your body quivering, and you simply content yourself with walking in its shadow. As long as you follow this path, you will be little more than a bug in its presence. But at least you will survive. Or at least, you stand a chance of surviving. The question is... where will you position yourself, as you move?
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