Carrying the plump weight of the iron armoured pokemon with seemingly no difficulty the Simipour steps forth into the darkened streets like a cowboy into an old western town.
Although his dozy smile makes him seem alert the hand not wrapped close around the Aron is close to the handle of the blade in his sash-like belt, ready for a quick draw. His deep sea blue tail twitches and twists into a complicated series of figure eights as he walks.
The Aron nuzzles his blunt, cold head into the curves of Fujimaru's shoulder, pausing only for a habitual nip at the Mystic Water necklace before wrapping his stubby limbs around the Lucky Egg and letting the soft motion of the Water Type's steps lull him to sleep.
The shining Simipour's normal smile grows a bit wider and a bit warmer at the sight.
Giri was so sweet, so innocent and so dedicated a child for such young an age. He was eternally curious about everything; a trait the Simipour encouraged indiscriminately throughout their training.
Some day in the future Fujimaru can't help but think he might make a mighty warrior, for now he is only a child.
Letting Giri nap in his arms the Simipour walks silently through the dead streets, watching over every shadow, and every tiny flicker of movement with a careful eye.
His master's long and harsh training has beaten the lesson into him well. He does not feel the slightest bit of exhaustion from his tireless trek through the caves to Mistralton City. He is as alert and ready for battle as ever.
Hefting Giri into a more comfortable position he looks around through his slanted squinty eyes at the empty buildings. The planes that had once been the pride of this place lay on their sides, slowly rusting away. They would never fly again and, like birds with broken wings, Fujimaru does not like looking at them.
The buildings are dark and forbidding with blank white eyes of cracked windowpanes. Dark clouds bubble and curl in the sky; it looks like it might soon begin to rain.
A chill wind ruffles his sea blue and golden fur and causes the Water Type to have to lean forwards against the strong wind. This was the kind of weather his trainer had always linked to the play of Tornadus, one of the more capricious of the legendary Pokémon.
Fujimaru would have greatly liked to believe the signs were true and there was indeed a great legendary Pokémon coming to clean away the Unnatural Ones but he had been taught the ways of the Storm Sign well by his master and could tell by the billowing of the cloud that this was a natural storm blowing up rather than one sparked by one of the three great Oni brothers.
He could not stay here out in the open for much longer.
He and Giri both would need what shelter could be provided by the human buildings until the weather once again cleared.
As if reminding him he would have to hurry a few spots of rain begin to fall.
The tiny droplets of water trickling down the smooth metal of his skull is enough to cause Giri’s pink eyes to slowly flick open as the tickling sensation wakes him from his sleep.
Yawning wide to show the newly emerged point of his first tooth the infant starts to squall loudly.
Fujimaru tries to calm him down, seek shelter and watch for any undead attracted by the noise at the same time.
“
Hush now Giri.” He murmurs soothingly as he ducks into the shelter of the nearest doorway.
Happily the baby Aron curled up in the arms of his caregiver and curls up around his Lucky Egg. The warm water clean scent of the Geyser Pokémon’s fur calms him and makes him feel safe and protected. The golden furred arm wrapped around him is warm and comforting.
Giri rests his head against the white patch of fur on the Simipour’s chest to hear the steady thump thump sound of Fujimaru’s heartbeat before kicking out his stumpy legs one last time and settling down to sleep.
The careful rocking motion of the Simipour’s foot steps soon has him dreaming.
The albino Aron dreams he is back in his egg with comforting warmth all around him. He doesn’t know how but he can tell that there is something wonderful waiting outside and he pushes on the egg shell and feels it give way to his legs.
He pushes again and again as the shell cracks and light pours in.
Warm soft hands pick him up and hold him close.
Giri’s memory is fuzzy but he can remember a pale white and green blob and a larger black one. Gardevoir, his mind names the silhouetted shapes, Honchkrow.
In his dream he struggles to reach his parents and wriggles faintly in Fujimaru’s grasp.
His dream unfolds further; memories of his father teaching him to attack trees and rocks or screech whenever he saw anything strange approach, memories of his mother pulping berries in with stone grit to feed him and bathing him carefully in the river.
All warm comforting memories until the end when the remembered coolness of the water causes him to crack open an eyelid.
Another raindrop patters onto his head and Giri shakes it off irritably. The agonizingly slow trickle of the droplets
tickled.
He waves his short legs in distress as Fujimaru’s steady walk becomes a more jolting run.
Up above he can see the dark clouds even against the coal black sky as they devour the stars. The strange sight makes him only cry louder as Fujimaru at last gets him somewhere dry and the albino rubs the was few droplets off against his caretaker’s fur.
“
Gurarghgurarghgurargh!” He rumbles angrily and loudly, waving his legs to be put down.
