SPENCER’S POV

Once we had entered the guild hall, the place no longer seemed so dingy. Indeed, it was practically teeming with life, numerous rescue teams milling about the place. Agarth stood at the front, checking badges and supplies to ensure that the rescuers had everything they needed. It warmed my heart a bit, since it felt like there was some semblance of order.

“The board’s back there,” Calvin said, gesturing at the far side of the guild hall. “Hestia Pachirisu will be listed next to her job.”

Sure enough, mounted against the wall was a screen that resembled a departure board you’d find at an airport. There was a job number, the name of the client, a brief description of the task, and the reward.

“Wow” Enfield mouthed. “She’s going to give us 8,500 P if we succeed.”

I frowned. “Isn’t a life usually valued around twenty-five million dollars?”

Calvin grunted, glaring at me. “That’s a lot of money around here” he muttered.

“Right, sorry” I replied, wondering how the hell I kept putting my paw in my mouth. (Metaphorically, of course; I doubted my actual paw would reach my mouth if I tried).

It didn’t take long to find Hestia’s task. Sorted alphabetically according to the client’s name, the description scrolled by so quickly that it was mildly difficult to read. But I’m pretty sure it read as follows:

Help wanted! My fiancé, Kaz Lucario, went missing last week climbing Mount Thunderhead! Skilled mountaineers needed!

I grimaced. “I’m not sure if I’m a skilled mountaineer.”

“Well, we already told her we would help,” Calvin replied bluntly. “Trust me, you won’t be able to live with yourself if you don’t at least try.”

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s tell Agarth what we’re doing.”

The Torchic seemed hardly able to believe his ears when we told him what we were planning. He fluttered about, probably ready to spit fire at any moment at such a reckless rescue team.

“That’s pretty ambitious!” he barked. “So ambitious, in fact, that I pity the fools who think they could do it on their first job!”

“So you pity us?” I blurted out.

“No. Well, yes, I guess I just said that! But make no mistake: This is a dangerous mission if you don’t know what you’re doing, especially this time of year!”

“Why? Is the air too thin for us?”

Agarth grimaced. “The mountain isn’t particularly tall, but it’s exhausting to climb due to how technical it is. It’ll take more than a day to reach it, and then more than a day to ascend.”

“So we’re going camping,” I said. “Great. I don’t like camping.”

“You can do this, Spencer,” Calvin assured me. Even now, I’m not sure if he actually meant it or if he were just trying to comfort himself in the face of our new mission.

“Can’t Enfield just fly us up there?” I enquired. This was a joke…mostly. It wasn’t likely that the Emolga would be strong enough to carry us to the summit. Besides…

“The wind up there is too harsh for me to fly. I’ll just get blown around like a ragdoll.” The Emolga spoke in a high-pitched yet quiet tone.

“Right. Stupid question.”

“It is a stupid question!” Agarth bellowed. “There is no easy way to do any of these jobs! If there were, they wouldn’t be posted here!”

He’s got a point.

“So without that…” Calvin began.

“There are fixed ropes on the way up the mountain,” Agarth asserted. “I’ll fix up some harnesses for you, which you can put on at the base. Just wait a few minutes.”

We waited for several minutes (and yes, by my count, it was roughly seven minutes), and then Agarth returned with a set of climbing rigs. Each one had more straps and buckles than I could wag my tail at, meaning it’d likely be impossible for me to don one myself. I’d need Calvin’s help for that.

“These can go in the satchel!” the Torchic announced more loudly than necessary. “You must not get them wet, because then the material will not be strong enough to stop you from falling!”

“Noted,” Calvin replied, while I gulped.

“I will now check the rest of your satchel”, Agarth stated, sounding much like one of the Sinnoh TSA officers that, again, you’d find at an airport. It was as though he were looking for explosives rather than items that could end up saving our lives.

What’s next? Are you going to give us all pat-downs?

Fortunately, this did not happen. Rather, the Torchic peeked inside our bag for a few seconds and then raised his head quizzically.

“You’re only bringing one tent?!”

“That’s all we could afford,” Calvin told him.

“Well, I’d argue it’s rather irresponsible of you to pack just one tent. You’ll all be sick of each other by the end!”

“If that didn’t happen after the last few days,” I muttered under my breath, “it’s not going to happen now.”

“You’d be surprised,” Agarth remarked, seemingly having heard me. I swear, snapping one’s fingers could probably wake this guy from a coma.

“We have a tent, water bottles, flashlights, and Escape Orbs. Oh, and some food in case we get hungry.” That was Calvin talking, probably trying to get the conversation back on track.

“Well, this seems like a pretty bare-bones operation!” Agarth exclaimed in a tone that was half drill sergeant, half mocking. “But if you want to take this mission on, then be my guest!”

“If we aren’t going to do it,” Enfield piped up, “who else will?”

That was the million-dollar question right there. It was a question, moreover, that Agarth didn’t answer.

“It’s probably best for you all to bring spikes with you…”.

“Crampons?” I asked. “That’s what those are called, right?”

Agarth raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

“But we might stab one another with them. You know, while putting them on accidentally.”

The Torchic rolled his eyes. “Well, if you don’t know how to put on crampons, you’re really in trouble. You’re in so much trouble, you don’t even know you’re in trouble!”

After a brief staring contest, Agarth sighed again. “Well, if you’re that determined to risk your lives on the mountain, I don’t think I can stop you. I’ll notify the blacksmith that you’ll all need to rent some snowshoes.”

Better than spikes, I guess.

Following our discussion with Agarth, we walked to the blacksmith’s office. Lord Lucas was hard at work on a sleigh, but he was more than willing to lend us three quartets of wooden snowshoes. “It’ll feel natural once you’re used to them,” he promised.

“Thanks a lot, Captain Obvious” I muttered.

“Spencer, be nice,” Calvin chastised me.

Lord Lucas, however, didn’t seem offended. As he fixed the snowshoes onto our paws, he smiled. “I wish all of you good luck on your journey. It’s best to get an early start - you should leave now.”

“We can’t even say goodbye to Frala?” Enfield enquired emotionally. The Emolga looked ready to sob.

“Best not to,” the blacksmith responded. “She doesn’t need to know where you’re going. Plus, it’s a waste of daylight, especially this time of year. The fewer nights you have to spend on your own, the better.”

On that happy note, we were off.

While I’d tried snowshoeing once or twice before, I hadn’t appreciated what it would feel like with four legs, simply because until now, I’d never had reason to. More than once, I tipped forward, and I would have fallen flat on my face if I hadn’t managed to right myself at the last moment.

It took almost half an hour to leave the village, during which time I noticed many villagers gazing at us reverentially. Once we reached the boundary, marked by a sign saying YOU ARE NOW LEAVING WHITEHALL, I glanced skyward.

Technically, I had defied Arceus just last week. If it was His will that I die on this trip, it was up to me to evade the King of Everything again.

Still, it felt like tempting fate to enter the snowbound wilds yet again. I was now without Hunter’s expertise (not that it had done me much good last week). Plus, the stakes were higher when you were trying to save someone versus just having fun on a ski day.

Once in the woods, the minutes blended together, even if I was aware of the sun moving across the sky. Then again, the sun’s movement was only an illusion caused by the rotation of the planet. Easy enough to forget that sometimes, isn’t it?

I was just one young man, who’d become a lion man, on a quest to rescue someone who’d gotten lost in the mountains. Trudging through the white stuff amid the massive landscape, it was hard not to ponder just how small we really were. Given how many hazards we mortals must be mindful of, it’s a wonder we live as long as we do.

After a while, a tear formed in my right eye and began trickling down my cheek.

Don’t cry, Spencer. Don’t even think about it.

While I didn’t sink into a full-blown meltdown, I got more than a little choked up as I pictured where I’d been shortly before finding Whitehall. The motions required to snowshoe effectively were just like those I’d utilized last week.

I do not know how long we hiked for. What I do know is that, at some point well past midday, Calvin stopped in his tracks.

“Why?” I hissed in little more than a whisper. Had a predator found us?

“We’re going to set up camp here” my fellow Litleo announced.

“Now?” Enfield gasped. “But it’s not even close to sunset yet!”

“During this time of year, you get less daylight than you think” Calvin reasoned. “This is as good a place to camp as any. It’s better not to forge ahead as it’s getting dark.”

Neither of us argued with Calvin; his logic wasn’t hard to follow. Besides, my legs protested at the idea of continuing onward for what might be an hour or more.

Thirdly, as campsites go, this one didn’t look too bad. We’d come to a clearing about the size of my bedroom, a stone’s throw from a nearby creek. We had enough space to set up a tent and build a fire (not that it seemed likely to take in this weather).

I licked my lips at the thought of biting into one of the granola bars we’d carried along, but Calvin had other ideas.

“We’re not going to dip into our rations now. We should save them for when they’re needed.”

“Then what will we do for food tonight?” I challenged him.

“Simple: We’ll find it ourselves. I’m sure there’s a five-star restaurant here if you know where to look. Take that tree as an example - it’s got all sorts of berries even though it’s winter.”

Berries were all well and good, but my stomach growled in protest. I craved something more substantial.

“Can we fish?” I asked.

Calvin frowned. “Uh, that might not be the best idea…”.

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t do that here!” my fellow Litleo snapped.

I sighed, unwilling to give in. “Well, Calvin, the ends justify the means. If we’re going to find Kaz, we have to find lots of food to fuel ourselves. And berries don’t exactly constitute lots of food.”

Enfield looked ready to riot, but Calvin capitulated sooner than I’d expected. “Fine. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to get the fish yourself, and you have to gather the wood yourself, and you have to cook the fish on your own. We won’t help you eat it either.”

I winked, ruffling my fur with one of my paws. “Leave it to me.”

I bounded over to the water’s edge, suddenly full of energy at the prospect of a decent meal after hiking all day. Once by the creek, I glanced downward at the numerous Goldeen and Magikarp swimming there. They were just going about their aquatic, simple lives, and they didn’t know what they were in for.

Without a fishing pole, I had only one tool for the job: My jaws.

I leaned over and bit down toward one of the fish. Unfortunately, all I accomplished was a mouthful of river water, which I promptly spat back out. It wasn’t safe to drink from a river without filtering it, right?

Whatever. I just have to keep at it.

The thing about fishing is that it’s like baseball. Nothing happens for minutes at a time, but then there are seconds where hours happen. As soon as you get a nibble, you have to react quickly, or else your luck will go to waste.

Once I was confident I’d gotten all that water out of my mouth, I chomped down again. This time, I connected with flesh.

But this fish was fighting back, and I realized that it was not a Goldeen, but a Magikarp. How else would it have so much strength to resist my jaws?

My mistake was bending over and refusing to give up. If I’d been willing to cut my losses and return to camp, then I would have at least cut my losses. That’s better than what really happened.

Instead, the Magikarp exerted enough force to wriggle free and tug me into the creek.

With an almighty splash, I hit the water with so much force that my side hurt like hell. And the river was deeper than it looked - I ended up fully submerged before kicking my way back to the surface.

While it was nice to draw breath again, the wind had been knocked out of my body. It didn’t help that the water felt like a million pins and needles against my very bones. My lungs were filling with ice shards, getting torn apart by the spikes, and I didn’t have much longer before it became too much to bear.

“Go ahead and laugh!” I shouted breathlessly once back at the surface, and I doggy-paddled back to the riverbank.

I found Enfield at the creek’s edge. The Emolga let me grab his hand and pulled me out of the frigid water. Soon I was back on land, huffing and puffing and shivering.

“I wasn’t laughing” Enfield stated sheepishly.

“It’s not that,” I muttered. “It’s a figure of speech.”

“Given that you were trying to swim for your life, I’m surprised you had the energy to shout that, but okay. Are you hurt?”

I was tempted to say no, but after a particularly deep breath, my right flank lit up in a pain slightly short of agony. It was then that I realized this was exactly where I’d hit the water - had there been a rock I didn’t see?

“My rib cage hurts,” I mumbled.

“Yeah, something like that can happen when you’re dragged into a river suddenly,” Enfield admitted.

“Do you have any medicine with you?” I asked. “Any healing spells?”

“Other than what the Earth gives us in terms of herbs and whatnot, I’m afraid not.”

If Frala were here, it’d be different. She’d know what magic to work to make me feel better.

Of course, I didn’t voice that out loud. What good would it do?

I trekked back to camp. Though it wasn’t more than fifty yards or so, to me it felt like a mile. Hitting the creek had washed much of my energy away, and I had nothing to show for it either.

It took one look from Calvin to know that I’d screwed up. My fellow Litleo gazed skeptically at me, looking as though he were barely resisting the urge to lash out.

“I’m sorry,” I mouthed.

“Don’t be sorry,” Calvin stated. “You made a promise, and you kept your promise. You would die for your own sins here.”

I must’ve been staring pretty hard, because Calvin clarified: “Metaphorically speaking.”

“Look,” Enfield stated, “we should probably build a fire. Spencer, do you think you can get one going?”

“Sure, just get some wood” I stated. In reality, I wasn’t sure that my side would be able to handle the task of breathing fire, but I couldn’t exactly say no either. Not when I was shivering markedly.

“You should probably help if you can,” Calvin said. “Keep moving, stave off hypothermia and all that. Enfield, you can be the guard now.”

“Right,” the Emolga replied.

So Calvin and I went back into the woods, finding a number of twigs and sticks that had fallen from trees. Given it was winter, these weren’t as plentiful as I would have liked, and I had to dig through the white stuff to find them.

I grimaced every so often as the pain in my side became increasingly sharp. “I think I bruised something in there,” I muttered.

Calvin stared at me. “Was it when you fell into the creek?”

“That’s exactly when” I said through gritted teeth. “And it hurts like hell if I move a certain way. Do you know if there’s anything we can do?”

“Not here. Binding your ribs won’t do any good. Plus, we don’t have…” he trailed off, sniffing. “You know. My mother, the healer.”

I moaned. “Where’s the white mage when you need her?”

In any case, we’d soon gathered all the wood we needed (which wasn’t much), and then returned to camp. Enfield stood guard, just like he had when we’d first departed.

Once the wood had been arranged in a pile, Calvin glanced at me. “Spencer, you know what to do.”

“But you’re a Fire-type too,” I complained. “Shouldn’t you be the one to do it when I’m injured?”

“You need the practice, Spence,” my fellow Litleo insisted. “I’m not going to do it for you.”

I grimaced. “Do not call me Spence. Please.”

“Just look at the pile and exhale with all your might. You’ll have a minor inferno going before long.”

“And we won’t burn this forest down accidentally?”

Calvin snorted. “Some fires are necessary for the circle of life. But it’s not going to happen in this weather. I’m ninety-nine percent sure. Okay, maybe ninety-five percent sure.”

Well, that’s comforting.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

In any case, I faced the pile of sticks and twigs, thinking about how fervently I wanted to warm them up. I huffed and puffed like the Big Bad Lycanroc, nearly powerfully enough to blow a house down. And then I exhaled.

In an instant, the wood caught fire. It was a pathetic little flame at first, an ember if anything, but within seconds most of the sticks were engulfed.

I collapsed on my side. The effort from taking such a breath had inflamed my injured rib further, and the edges of my vision tinged red.

“Are you okay, Spencer?” Calvin asked, rushing to my side.

“It hurts” I moaned weakly.

“You should probably get in the tent. Enfield and I are almost done setting it up.”

Wow, that was quick.

Sure enough, the tent had been erected, its stakes driven deeply into the snow. While I wasn’t really one for camping before this, it looked as secure as we were going to get in an environment like this.

My mouth hung agape at the sheer efficiency of it, but Calvin snorted as if he saw this every day. “Well, Spencer? What are you waiting for?”

I climbed into the tent, pain radiating throughout my right side, and crawled into one of the sleeping bags that had been placed there. (During the hours of trekking, I’m pretty sure Calvin had said something about the sleeping bags being provided with the tent. If I forgot that, give me a break.)

The sleeping bag was pretty cozy, and before long my mind felt hazy, a prelude to drifting off. It was harder and harder to think straight amidst the comfort of the tent, so it didn’t take too long for slumber to arrive.

It also didn’t take too long to wake up to a nudge from Calvin.

“Dinner’s ready” he told me.

I sat upright, my rib whining in protest. Somehow it was even more tender than it had been in the immediate aftermath of the event.

Calvin handed me a few berries. “This is all we have, unless we want to dig into our rations. But I’ve already talked about why that’s a bad idea.”

“Right,” I groaned.

My fellow Litleo frowned. “Your rib’s still bothering you?”

I nodded. Even this motion made the area ache dully, but this time I tried not to show it. (The operative word being tried - I’ve never had a good poker face).

“Man, I wish I could help. But even if you don’t feel like eating, even if the pain makes you want to puke, I’m going to make sure you keep your strength up. How does that sound?”

I didn’t object, though part of me pictured that scene where I’d eaten stew. (I think you know what scene I’m talking about).

The berries made me feel better, though only marginally. Each bite was akin to a hug from my mother, which came with an assurance that everything would be fine. (Of course, it was cold comfort at best. Literally.)

My only regret about the meal was that it was smaller than I would have liked. As soon as I’d finished a pawful of them, I licked my lips and asked for more. That’s when Calvin sighed. “Again, Spencer, that’s all we have. I’m sorry.”

It didn’t sound like he meant to blame me, but a pang of guilt stabbed me right in the ribcage. If my jaw had been a little bit stronger, maybe we’d have a fish to share.

Don’t be silly. Didn’t the other two already say that they wouldn’t eat any Pokémon? The only one going hungry as a result of your failure is YOU!

“Well,” I sighed, “I might as well go to bed. Do we need to have any camp guards?”

“There’s not a lot of crime in the woods,” Calvin replied with a shrug. “I think we’ll be fine. Get some rest, because you’ll certainly need it.”

Pretty soon I was asleep once more, the ache in my side forgotten for some blissful hours during which I had nothing to worry about.

(Insert a horizontal line here)

Morning was far less peaceful.

I opened my eyes to find Enfield standing over me, a look plastered on his face that was midway between worried and frustrated.

“Well,” he said, “the sleeper finally awakes.”

“Sorry” I mumbled. “I swear, usually I get up earlier than 95 percent of people my age.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Calvin snapped. “Just get up and put your snowshoes on. Because you’re probably the weakest link now, you can set the pace. We should reach the mountain sometime today assuming no…surprises.”

I didn’t ask what Calvin meant by surprises. But I won’t lie: Being called the weakest link felt like a punch to the ribs.

He’s being objective, Spencer. Don’t get too offended.

It took the other two less than ten minutes to break camp. “Leave no trace,” Calvin asserted. “That’s how we respect Earth. Don’t give the planet any evidence that you were ever there.”

“But don’t you want to make your mark?” I joked.

Enfield rolled his eyes. “There are better ways to make your mark than that.”

“Yeah, fair point.”

After a very hurried breakfast of berries, we were on the trail yet again. I led the way toward our goal; like Calvin had said, I would set the pace until we reached Mount Thunderhead. As I panted heavily in the mountain air, small needles of pain kept injecting my rib, and it wasn’t long before I found myself bent almost double.

“No breaks, Spence. No breaks.”

“Why…are you…calling me Spence?” I wheezed.

“If you have enough air to complain about nicknames,” Calvin continued, “you have enough energy to press forward. Suck it up!”

We trekked through the snow for a few hours. Despite the cold temperatures, sweat formed in my fur, and the thing about fur is that moisture doesn’t leave it easily. Before long, I was downright shivering from the wetness.

“We’re getting close to the base,” Calvin assured me. “That’s half the battle. And then we’ve just got the other half.”

Yeah, but you neglected to mention that the second half is much harder.

Pretty soon the mountain came into view, a giant pyramid of stone and ice with clouds surrounding it like a fluffy belt. As mountains go, it didn’t seem terribly high (probably not much more prominent than the ski resort), but the climb still promised to be exhausting.

I groaned. (Do you even need to be told why I was groaning? I didn’t think so.)

“Once we get there, we’ll break for lunch and then start climbing,” Calvin announced. “And no more fishing, okay?”

Way to single me out like that.

An hour later we were at the base of Mount Thunderhead. And let me tell you, it looked far higher up close. There were a few trees near the base, but the higher you looked up the slope, the more sparse these trees became.

There was also something visible near the top. I could barely make it out, but it looked almost like a mansion. “Is that…?”

“What is it, Spencer? Sit down and get some food for yourself.”

“Looks like a manor of sorts. Like a huge, fancy home owned by someone rich.”

“It is” Enfield squeaked, tearing open the wrapper of a chocolate bar using only his teeth.

“Why would anyone build a mansion at the top of a mountain?” I enquired, because honestly, that sounded like a pretty risky idea.

“Beats me” Calvin suggested, biting into a bit of synthetic beef jerky. “But there’s a rumor about that manor” he continued, having his mouth open as he said this.

“A rumor? What about it? Do I even want to know?”

The glance Enfield gave me, much like that of a puppy dog about to be put down, answered the question for me.

“I still want to know,” I asserted. “I can handle the truth.”

“Fine,” Calvin muttered flatly. “They say it’s radioactive.”

“Radioactive? Like a nuke went off there or something?”

My fellow Litleo laughed dryly. “No, it’s not like a nuke. We would never use nukes - they’re not good for the planet. They say the surface of this mountain emits radiation, which means it’s not safe to be inside the manor for too long. Or to eat snow off it.”

“Well, that’s comforting!” I remarked.

“Hey, I say what I mean, and I mean what I say” Calvin told me. “Kaz Lucario can climb it because he’s an adventurer and knows how to reduce the risks. Most climbers aren’t so skilled.”

And we must climb it to save Kaz’s sorry ass. Arceus, can’t the guy have chosen an easier mountain to start with?

Needless to say, I could barely keep down the synthetic beef jerky as I bit on it. It didn’t help that beef jerky can hardly be considered “food” - there’s nothing natural about it. More than once, I gagged.

“You need to expand your palette, Spence,” Enfield muttered.

I glared at the Emolga, but I didn’t say anything. Instead I stared up at the mountain before us, trying to admire its beauty and distract myself from the unappetizing “food.”

Yes, the mountain was stunning. As rugged as it may have been, it was hard to imagine that it truly contained a deadly secret. And yet…

“So the radiation…” I began. “How much is it?”

Calvin shook one of his paws. “Enough to cause cancer if you’re there for too long. But it also has more immediate risks.”

“Like a three-headed Houndoom?” I quipped. At least, I meant it as a quip, but my comrades didn’t seem to find it very funny.

“Maybe. Truth be told, not many Pokémon, or humans for that matter, have climbed it, let alone entered the manor. This isn’t the tallest peak in Sinnoh, not remotely.”

Maybe the radiation is the main attraction. Does that make Kaz mental? Does it make us insane?

“So we’ll climb this mountain and try not to melt snow for water,” I said. (This is how we’d been drinking for the better part of a day.) “And then we’ll get our water from…where, exactly?”

“We’ll hope it snows while we’re on the mountain, and catch that snow” Enfield stated, holding out his tongue to demonstrate.

“But…”.

“Shut up and eat, Spencer,” Calvin muttered. “We should leave within minutes to ascend. It’s not safe to climb after dark, especially since the weather gets worse the higher up you are.”

I complied with Calvin’s command. A few minutes later, my fellow Litleo showed us how to put on the climbing harnesses, which was a challenge.

“Spencer, step into the four spots on the ground. Those are for your paws.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“And it comes with a beacon - make sure that’s over your chest. Enfield should probably help - his paws are placed in a better position for this.”

But the Emolga was busy donning his own harness. Really, why did he need one? Couldn’t he just fly back up if he fell down the mountain?

Anyway, once Enfield was all rigged up (and had assisted Calvin slightly in the same task), he helped me into the straps and did some of the buckles for me. “Thanks” I mumbled.

“No problem. When I met you last week, you hadn’t earned my help, but now you have.”

“Uh…thanks” I repeated. What else was I supposed to say?

“Don’t worry about it,” the Emolga replied. “Honestly, Spencer, you’re not human.”

I flinched. “Is that…an observation? Or is it a compliment?”

“Why not both?” Enfield asked. “It shows that you’re not like the other humans. Yeah, you used to be one, but you don’t seem to agree with the way things are.”

I was tempted to ask what he meant, but Calvin then called for us. “We should get going,” Enfield told me. “Just know that I respect you a lot more than I did the first time we met. And…I’m sorry.”

“It takes an average of twenty-three hours to summit Mount Thunderhead” Calvin announced. “This is according to the statistics compiled by the WASP group.”

Enfield shivered. “Twenty-three hours?”

“Well, assuming you sleep eight hours a night, which we all should, it’s more like fifteen hours. Still no mean feat.”

But that wasn’t the implication I sensed. It sounded almost like Enfield had an aversion to the number 23 itself. But why?

It doesn’t matter. There’ll be plenty of time to ask him after.

After. That magical land in which we’d rescued Kaz and completed our mission. It seemed about as accessible as a secret paradise island.

“All right. Snowshoes back on - those are way easier - and I’ll lead the way up.”

With Calvin in front and Enfield behind me, I found it less difficult to keep the pace. That being said, “less difficult” does not mean “easy”.

The snowshoes did one thing, and one thing only: They prevented us from slipping. This grew increasingly important due to how many switchbacks were on the mountain; there was practically a maze of cliffs tall enough for a fall to kill. That being said, we still sunk deeply into the white stuff with each step.

“Try not to make too much contact with the snow,” Calvin instructed me. “You know why, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I do.”

“Because I’ve already told you that several times.”

“Wait a minute, several?” I panted. Really, speaking was a waste of my energy, but I needed something to put the monotony at bay. (Besides, of course, the epic views of the Coronet Range in the distance).

“Yes, several” Enfield stated. “He’s mentioned the rumors of radioactivity several times.”

“But it’s only been, like, three or four times” I muttered. “Last I checked, several means seven, not four.”

Calvin grunted. “Let’s not get into semantics here.”

The higher we climbed, the more heavily the snow fluttered down from the sky. The flakes grew larger and more numerous, and it wasn’t terribly long before I cast a glance over the side and realized that I couldn’t see the forest at the base. It was hidden behind a thick silver fog.

My rib didn’t like the climb either. Stabbing pains kept popping up every time I stepped too high, but what other option did I have than to press onward?

Eventually we reached a point where we had to clip into a series of ropes that had been fixed to the side of the mountain. It gave some peace of mind to know that if I fell, I wouldn’t fall far, but that didn’t make the trek any less tiring.

“If you fail, we all fail, and I don’t plan on failing” Calvin muttered after yet another grueling switchback was put behind us.

Yet I found myself shivering seconds later. There’s something about being so high up, even if you know there’s logically no reason to worry, that is unnerving. Additionally, the wind was picking up, so the anxious part of me wondered if the ropes would snap.

It won’t happen. Whoever set the ropes earlier knew what they were doing. We’re going to be okay.

No, it’s not guaranteed. These ropes probably don’t see much use.

But that makes them safer. Ropes tend to deteriorate with use.

That also means they have yet to prove themselves.

The two sides of my brain were so focused on going to war with one another that I barely noticed the ground shift beneath my paws.

“Jump, fool!” I heard Enfield shout.

Unfortunately, rather than realizing that I stood on a bit of ice that was crumbling away, I had been preoccupied with being called a fool. As such, I found myself suspended between two cliffs, roughly a meter apart in either direction.

I tumbled a few feet (not quite several) before the rope arrested my fall. My heart skipped a beat, and time seemed to stop as I glanced upward at my companions.

“Swing, you Litleo, swing!” I heard Calvin shout.

In a split second, I realized that this experience was rather familiar. Back at a summer day camp I’d attended as a kid (which was meant for kids like me), one of the high ropes elements had been referred to as the “swing.” One camper had been hoisted up by the others, then made to swing back and forth in the air until brought to a stop. It was a thrill ride done for pleasure; in other words, very different from climbing out of a crevasse.

So I shook my body from side to side, careful not to make movements that were too aggressive, and then pushed off one of the walls. They were roughly several feet apart, which is a lot when you’re a Litleo.

“Just climb the damn thing!” Enfield exclaimed. “You won’t fall if you lose your grip!”

Easy for you to say. You’ve got fucking wings, just like that Red Tauros drink.

By the time I reached the top of the crevasse, I was soaked in sweat (well, more so), my arms feeling as though they’d been replaced by gelatinous blobs. Huffing and puffing, I crumpled forward, nearly getting a faceful of the white stuff.

“From here on out,” Calvin chastised me, “be very careful where you step. Otherwise things like that will happen.”

Great, so he’s blaming me now. Isn’t that wonderful?

After Enfield leaped over the crevasse, the long hike continued. Although it was cloudy enough for the sun to be barely visible, I could tell the daylight was waning. The sky was now a dark blue rather than the light gray it had been all afternoon.

“We’re going to stop here,” Calvin said after a while. We’d arrived on a roughly circular ledge overlooking…something. Perhaps it bulged out over the void, or maybe there was another ledge fifty feet below it. The storm made it hard to tell.

Setting up camp was a nightmare. The snow up here was very light, making it difficult to get the stakes in securely. Additionally, about every five to ten minutes (let’s split the difference and say every several minutes), a particularly powerful gust would arrive, drenching us all in the white stuff.

“I can’t wait for spring” I mouthed as I stepped on a stake to drive it as deeply as possible into the mountainside. When no response came, I cracked a joke that I regret to this day: “Maybe global warming would be a good thing right now.”

“No, it wouldn’t!” Calvin snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have to deal with nature as it is, rather than how you would like it to be!”

“I was just joking.”

“No, you weren't,” Enfield pointed out. “Your tone suggested you meant it. If you’re going to joke, at least laugh.”

“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll keep my big mouth shut now.”

“That would be ideal.”

Once we’d finally gotten the tent in securely, Calvin noticed something else. A set of cords had been drilled into the rocky mountainside. According to my fellow Litleo, this was evidence that previous climbers were looking out for us.

“Their spirits may be up in the sky,” he said, “but our ancestors might bail us out. We can clip ourselves to those cords so that we won’t get blown off that cliff. Then we’ll be able to sleep soundly.”

“But the tent’s in the ground pretty safely?” I asked, casting about for any assurance that we’d be fine.

Calvin nodded, though with a slight glare. “It’s as secure as it’s going to be. Get inside - we’ll have a feast tonight.”

I mean, I’d hope it’s secure. We just spent what felt like hours setting it up.

The cords fit through a thin “slot” in the tent’s wall. It would let in some cold air, and potentially a small amount of snow, but I was assured that it would be worth it. “Anything so that we don’t fall off” Calvin repeated.

We hunkered down in the sleeping bags for a few hours, passing along some of the food we’d packed. None of us spoke much, least of all to comment on the howling wind outside.

I swear, the wind sounded like a Lycanroc howling at the moon. It was loud enough that I felt tempted to cover my ears, but this was a lot harder without arms. There was no need to tell ghost stories, because the only ghosts needed were those that could apparently be heard outside the tent.

“Well,” Enfield pointed out eventually, “we should probably get to sleep. We’re not gaining anything by staying up late.”

“This isn’t New Year’s Eve” I snorted.

The Emolga gave me a quick dirty look, but then sighed. “Yes.”

With that, we turned in for the night. At first, I did not know how I was going to fall asleep, simply because of how loud the wind was. But I soon found that if I viewed the wind as a lullaby of sorts, it could serve as such.

What melody should we set the wind to? The “three ‘mon with a link to Earth” song? Or “Ghost Ship of Cannibal Rattatas” by Billy Talonflame? No, that’s not very comforting.

They say that your brain is actually the most active when you’re asleep. Well, although I remained awake for the time being, my mind raced a mile a second.

My parents…they’ve probably given up on any efforts to find me. How often are people who vanish in the wild ever rescued?

Moisture formed in my right eye, and this wasn’t from snowmelt. I rolled over and landed right on my bad rib.

“Hey, you rolled right onto me!” I heard Enfield wail.

“Sorry!” I exclaimed, gasping at the same time. “There’s just not a lot of room in here!”

“Then be mindful!”

“I will if you shut up about my tendency to roll over!”

Somehow this argument fizzled out nearly as suddenly as it had begun, and soon I heard Enfield snoring. It wasn’t more than a few minutes before I drifted off again. The last thing I thought I heard was something clicking; owing to my drowsiness, I couldn’t be sure what it was.

And I slept. I slept quite well, almost too well. It was the sleep of fairy tales, or of pillow commercials featuring that mustached man.

Morning came sooner than expected. I was jolted awake by a whooshing noise that swept some snow into the tent.

Opening my eyes, I realized just how disoriented I felt. Much like I was lying on the deck of a ship in choppy waters, the floor seemed tilted somehow.

“Ugh…” I moaned. “Did I drink too much?”

“Excuse me?” Calvin muttered.

With a deep sigh, followed by a burp to settle my nausea (which was followed by Calvin wrinkling his nose), I explained that question away like this: “It seemed like a fair question.”

“Well, you’re not!” Calvin bellowed, and it was then that I realized why we were seemingly tilted sideways.

Another gust of gale-force wind blew its way through the tent, and we tumbled yet again. We were falling head over heels, and not in love.

By this time Enfield was awake as well. He let out a frightened squeal, flapping his wings furiously.

“No need to!” Calvin exclaimed. “Don’t waste your energy!”

When the cables arrested our falls, my head pounded as though it were repeatedly being struck by a mallet. All the blood was rushing there - I was upside down.

Our tent had been blown away by the storm, and if we hadn’t been tethered to the mountainside, we’d have faced the same fate. As it was, we dangled precariously from the ledge.

We were cliffhangers, literally.