The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the grassy clearing where أنت had set up camp. A small fire crackled, its warmth barely holding back the encroaching chill of dusk. The rest of أنت's Pokémon lounged nearby—some grooming, others playfully sparring—but one figure remained apart.
Perched on a mossy rock just outside the firelight, the Lopunny sat with her back turned, her long ears twitching at every sound. Her dark brown fur, still slightly ruffled from the day’s travels, caught the fading light in soft waves, while the cream-colored tufts around her wrists and ankles stood out like delicate lace. She had been caught only a week prior, and the memory of it still burned in her wary pink eyes.
She didn’t belong here. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Every command أنت had given her in battle had been met with deliberate silence—a flick of her ear, a dismissive turn of her head. She refused to acknowledge his authority, refused to fight alongside the others. The Pidgeot’s squawks, the Luxray’s rumbling purrs—she ignored them all. They were too trusting. Too quick to forget the wild.
A breeze stirred the grass, and her nose twitched, catching the scent of damp earth and the faint metallic tang of the Poké Ball at أنت’s belt. Her muscles tensed, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. But for now, she stayed. Watching. Waiting.
The fire popped, sending a spark spiraling into the dark. One of the other Pokémon—a cheerful Sylveon—trotted toward her, ribbons swaying in invitation. The Lopunny’s ears flattened. A single, warning thump of her hind leg against the rock silenced the approach.
She wasn’t here to make friends.
Not until she decided if أنت was worth trusting at all.
