By the time the Ralts had made it back to the forest edge, twilight had well and truly fallen. The woods took upon themselves an ethereal haze as the glow of the moon slowly became the only source of light. She weaved through trees and shrubs towards her home, taking care to make as little noise as possible.

For the Poochyena hunted most often at night, she knew; their natural coal coloring and dark minds making the gloom a perfect hunting ground. The Ralts bore this in mind most clearly as the sun faded entirely. Navigating the half-remembered surroundings, she became acutely aware of every sound around her.

A third of the way there, she said to herself as time passed. The moon rose near its apex in the sky. A third more. A Taillow’s echoing shriek caused her to jump, terrified. She stilled, listening intently. When nothing further happened, she let loose her stilled breath.

Then a lone howl echoed through the darkness, freezing the blood in her veins. Abandoning all subtlety, the Ralts fled through the bush. Shadows jumped and twisted in the light as a wild chorus answered the first.

Through this bush, jump the rocks, slide under the fallen tree. The cries sounded again, closer.

The Ralts took fleeting glances at her surroundings as she passed through. The dim light made it hard to see, but her mind pieced flashes of familiar scenery together. This was…yes, she knew this place, she was so close! Making a hard turn left, she dashed with renewed vigor—as behind her she heard a crash, some pursuer slamming into a thorny brush. She winced as the pained cries echoed off the trees, seeming to come from every direction. This is not the time to feel pity, she told herself, and pushed further on.

Just a short time later, she saw a light flickering in the distance. The sounds of pursuit nipped at her heels in frightening volume, and she put on that extra burst of speed as she dove through into the clearing beyond.

“What the—” a voice called, startled. The guard from earlier stood in the glow of a floating lamp, staring at her with wide eyes. His spear was pointing directly at her.

“Poochyena!” the Ralts cried, skidding around his weapon and hiding behind him. “From the forest!”

“You—what!?” The Kirlia halted his half-turn, gaze snapping to the woods beyond. The bushes rustled all around them as the Ralts huddled closer to the larger guard’s side.

“You know,” he mentioned, eyes shifting back and forth. “When I said I’d protect you from the Poochyena, I didn’t exactly mean ‘Go out and find them.’”

“You’re lecturing me about this now!?”

“Might not get another chance.” He shifted his grip and lowered his lantern onto the ground. “Stay low, I’ll get us both out of here, alright?” The shadows danced eerily around the clearing and the wind picked up slightly, whistling through the canopy above. For a moment, there was calm.

Then from the left, a Poochyena exploded out of the shrubbery, thirty pounds of sharp teeth and fury. The Kirlia spun around at once, and smashed it to the ground with the haft of his spear. Pirouetting, he levered the mutt and flung it, intercepting another leaping dog in midair before skidding to a halt and stabbing at the third dog rushing down the center.

It dodged to the side, but yelped when the spear scored a gash along his body. The Kirlia pulled back and stabbed again, but the Poochyena retreated, growling, as the Ralts watched its fellows find their feet. Spinning, the guard buried his shaft in the snarling jaws of a recovered dog and with a heave slammed it down, narrowly ducking under the first Poochyenas attack.

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She watched in terrified awe as the guard spun and slashed at the dogs, barely managing to stay ahead of their ferocious attacks with skill and experience. Shaking, she reached out with her psychic power, searching for any way to help—but found that her efforts slid off the Poochyena like water.

But there had to be something. Sitting there, useless, powerless…a swell of fury rose within her. Again she threw a blast of confusion at the hounds, and again her efforts yielded nothing. Helpless, she watched as her guardian faltered, receiving a gash to the arm for his mistake. Desperately, her eyes wandered the clearing for anything she could possibly do.

The Kirlia panted as the dogs readied themselves for another assault. They circled him, looking for an opening to exploit, and he winced as fresh gashes on his arm pulsed; the Ralts could feel it, that fresh wave of pain. Sensing weakness, the hounds closed in from all sides, snarling and thrashing. Desperately, he warded off two of them with a wide sweep and caught the third in the leg, tripping it.

He jerked the spear backwards, jamming the haft into an adversary's snarling maw, but the Poochyena growled and snapped its jaw shut around the shaft and pulled away, almost yanking the tool from the Kirlia’s hands. He stumbled, falling to one knee—and once again the other dogs took advantage, rebounding and charging in from opposite sides. Panicked, the Kirlia turned to his left and instinctively shot a blast of pure psychic energy at the incoming mutt. Neither Poochyena reacted; they only darted forward, slavering. Raising a desperate arm in guard, the guard braced for pain.

So he was rather startled when they were instead pelted with two rather large, glowing rocks. He kicked the hound attached to his weapon once, twice, and finally knocked the beast off. Leaping backwards he brandished his spear at the Poochyena once more, sending a glance backward to whence the timely assistance had come. Face screwed in concentration, the tiny Ralts stood tall in the flickering lamp light. Around her orbited tens of stones, whirling above her in a loose cloud.

He paused, then broke out a wry grin. “Couldn’t have busted that out earlier?”

The Ralts let out a low, annoyed keen, and a rock narrowly missed the guard’s head. A whine sounded as a dog was downed mid-leap.

“Point made,” he noted.

Swinging around the haft, he slammed a hound to the dirt yet again. Whirling, he slashed at the third foe which failed to dodge in time, leaving a seeping gash across its side—and then it was hit by a stone.

Hit by hit, slash by slash, the Poochyena were driven back. Any advancements made or tactics attempted were thwarted by a precisely slung piece of granite.

Finally, after what felt like an age of combat, all of the Poochyena lay upon the ground, exhausted and bloodied. The guard, out of breath, watched them with his spear still at the ready. Slowly, the trio of aggressors climbed to their feet.

Letting out a collection of mournful howls, all three slinked off into the night.

With a sigh of relief the guardsman planted his spear into the ground and rested against it for a moment, before turning his attention to his charge. The Ralts had long since released her cloud of rocks and fallen to her knees, gasping for air.

The Kirlia staggered over and kneeled down. “You alright, there? It’s okay.” He laid a hand on her shoulder as her shuddering breaths filled the night air. “It’s okay. We made it, eh?”

They were both silent for a time, the guard letting her regain her stamina before he spoke again. “First time using that much energy, huh? Didn’t even think you had that much in you—most Ralts don’t. Really saved my butt there,” he added.

The Ralts chucked weakly. “Had to…had to do something. Couldn’t sit and do no—nothing.” She coughed, mouth dry.

“Well, I’m glad you had my back. Not many would have started chucking rocks.” Gently, he turned her over and scooped her into his arms. With a bit of effort he telekinetically lifted his spear and the lamp, which hovered behind him.

“C’mon,” he said, walking through the trees. “Your grandfather was worried.”

“Let’s go home.”