SPENCER’S POV

In my dream, I was somewhere else. Namely, standing barefoot on the threshold of the hotel I’d booked with my so-called friends.

I opened the door and entered the building. The lobby was deserted except for the receptionist, and a quick glance outside told me that it was late evening at a minimum, early morning at a maximum.

I shouldn’t be here, was my overwhelming thought. But I pushed it back. For some reason, I knew I was supposed to be here.

So I strode up to the front desk, where the receptionist stood at a computer. His concentration didn’t waver from his screen.

“Excuse me?” I enquired.

Still nothing. Whatever had captured this man’s attention, it didn’t want to let go.

So I clapped my hands together, which roused the receptionist from his stupor. “Yes?” he asked, sounding peeved like I’d just woken him up from a deep slumber.

“Uh…” I began, but I couldn’t piece together the proverbial jigsaw puzzle. “Why am I here?”

“If you don’t have any business in this hotel, if you’re not staying here or visiting someone who is staying here, you should consider yourself a trespasser.” The man was polite but firm.

“You want me to get out of here?”

The receptionist nodded. But then I remembered why I’d come.

“Could you tell me where Room 333 is?” I enquired. “Could I have the key?”

The man frowned. “We don’t typically give keys to people who can’t prove that they are the guests in the specified rooms. So I will have to deny that request.”

“Hunter is staying there,” I said. “Hunter Hawkeye.”

“Are you a hitman or something?”

I took a step back, stunned by this baseless accusation. “Why would I be a hitman of all things?”

The receptionist shrugged. “If you want to enter that room so badly, you’d better have a very good reason. And a desire to commit murder doesn’t constitute a ‘very good reason’”.

“I’ve got a very good reason” I promised. “I’m from the same group as Hunter. We booked a stay at this hotel - one room for each of the four of us. I can show you my ID…”.

I reached down for my wallet, only to find that it wasn’t there. I’d come woefully unprepared for a moment like this…but why?

“Sir, what is your name?” a woman enquired. She was evidently one of the hotel’s housekeepers judging by the cart she pulled containing fresh linens and whatnot.

“Spencer,” I told her. “Spencer Teller. And I’m looking for the key to Room 333 so I can check in on my skiing buddy.”

Using the word buddy to describe Hunter felt like slapping my mother in the face. But I wasn’t exactly going to admit that to this receptionist. As far as I was concerned, if she didn’t need to know something, she wasn’t going to know it.

“Yeah, I’ve got a master key,” the housekeeping lady answered. She handed me the master key, and I was on my way.

I climbed the stairs to the third floor, then traversed the corridor until I reached Room 333. I unlocked the door, and just like Electabuzz Markie, I found myself exclaiming “Oh, snap!”

Hunter was standing in just his thermal underwear, doing a series of jumping jacks for some reason.

Needless to say, this meeting didn’t start exactly as I’d planned it. Not even close.

Hunter’s face turned redder than a Cheri berry. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, Spencer.”

“I’m not kidding!” I exclaimed. “You and I need to talk.”

“When I’m in my night clothes, that should be a social cue that I’m not eager to talk to you! For anyone else that would be easy to grasp, but evidently you still need some help with it!”

Now, Hunter probably didn’t have access to my medical history, but those words still hit close to home in a way I can’t properly explain. I flinched, which likely wasn’t the best way to project confidence.

“Why do you think I need help with social cues, Hunter?”

“Because you never look us in the eyes, like it causes eye strain. And nobody will trust a guy who doesn’t look them in the eye. They just won’t, so you might as well get these tips through your thick skull before you’re out in the real world.”

“This is just a waste of time” I asserted. The true reason why I’d come was suddenly fading from mind, drenched in an increasingly thick fog that some people called “pea soup.”

“A waste of time?”

“Yes! I came here to have a talk with you about what happened today! You made us go on some really dangerous trails, and I got separated!”

“Not our problem, dude!” Hunter bellowed. “Maybe you shouldn’t drink all that water before you go for a run in the backcountry!”

“But you should have waited,” I said testily. “And you didn’t. I thought you were nice, Hunter. You’re a piece of crap, man.”

“Well, Spencer, nobody was forcing you to ski on that terrain. You came with us of your own accord. Just like the ski patrol aren’t responsible if we get in trouble there, we’re not responsible for having to wait for your bladder.”

“Maybe not, but…”. I trailed off, having no clue how to retort without making myself look foolish. Quite frankly, it was likely impossible, because Hunter had a point.

I’d succumbed to peer pressure in an effort to look cool. To drink from that poisoned chalice, I’d sacrificed caution on the altar of “playing with the boys”, as some would say. And I’d paid the price that day.

“That’s another thing people like you struggle with,” Hunter asserted. “I suggest a book on self-awareness; it will be helpful for you in the future.”

I stomped one of my bare feet on the carpet, tempted to shout like a Pyroar. How dare Hunter accuse me of lacking self-awareness!

“Just because I’m different doesn’t mean I’m deficient” I stated.

“Whatever” he sighed.”It’s too late. Spencer, I recommend you don’t provoke me any further. If this mud-slinging doesn’t end soon, I might not look for you as fervently if we’re in an avalanche. And you don’t want that, do you?”

It was then that I knew I was at Hunter’s mercy. If he wanted to cut me loose, he could. He was probably joking about actually letting me die, but he was angry enough that I felt comfortable adding the probably qualifier.

“Have it your way,” I muttered, closing the door.

My own room wasn’t too far from Hunter’s; we’d all been booked on the same floor. So I made my way over there and opened the door…

…and then the scene changed.

Now I was somewhere else entirely. The air was thinner and colder by a seeming order of magnitude. A full moon shone in the sky above, and more stars than I’d ever seen were visible. In other words, it was beautiful.

I glanced around at my surroundings, finding that granite columns stood all around me. Most of them had been truncated in very jagged shapes so that they almost resembled giant teeth. And there were dozens of them, in two long rows on either side of the main walkway.

Not only that, but the tooth analogy was also apt for a different reason.

Although I found myself out in the open, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was in some sinister creature’s clutches. If I tried to resist it, I’d simply get chomped to within an inch of my life (or, more likely, be freed from my life entirely).

You cannot resist fate. One might as well try to resist the ocean.

My head throbbed as I realized that the same idea had occurred to me quite recently. Where had I heard that one before?

“Come closer, Spencer Teller” a rather deep voice instructed me. “You know you wish to do so.”

“I’d rather not, thank you very much.”

The disembodied voice gave off a laugh that sounded half-mocking, half-sad. In either case, it was an unsettling noise, which was soon to be replaced by the following assertion:

“Oh, Spencer, don’t you understand? You tried to defy me.”

I tried to open my mouth in order to object, but my jaw wouldn’t budge. If Arceus Himself had placed a curse on me to prevent me from speaking, it couldn’t have worked any better than this.

Belatedly, I realized that I was in fact standing before Arceus, the King of Everything.

That explained why the granite pillars were so jagged, why they were made of granite, and every other clue that was provided as to my location. I’d been plucked atop Mount Coronet (not the Coronet Range, mind you, but the one and only Mount Coronet) , and was to stand trial before Arceus Himself.

“Did I… die? ” I gasped.

Arceus did not respond; I supposed He was just toying with me, like a savage Ursaring playing with its prey before it goes in for the kill and eats that smaller Pokémon for supper. Whatever the case, it pissed me off.

“I thought I got out of that forest!” I exclaimed. “I was literally just in Hunter’s hotel room, yelling at him! And then…”.

“Then what?” Arceus enquired rhetorically. (It’s worth noting that I couldn’t see the Creator’s form, only hear Him bellow and boom at me).

“And then You sent me up here to face judgment” I muttered.

“Maybe I did. In fact, I absolutely did, Spencer Teller. You’ve broken several cosmic laws during your life - four if I can count.”

“ Four?! Last time I checked, several means seven, not four!”

“Jokes like that do not matter,” Arceus asserted. “Nor do the items that you youngsters call memes. All that must be known is that you’re in a heap of trouble.”

“For what?” I stated, hoping against hope that this was some mistake. Just a simple misunderstanding that would be resolved before morning came. That’s what I wanted to think.

“You tried to resist my will, Spencer Teller. You glanced up at me - “.

“And used Your name in vain?”

“It’s not that. Quite frankly, I don’t care about that. Your crime was far more severe - you asserted that you were going to defy my will. That if you were destined to die that day, you would put your foot down and say no.”

“Hey, it was self-defense!” I protested. “If I didn’t cheat death, it would have met me!”

“And you believe that absolves you?!” the Creator bellowed. “Tell me, Spencer Teller, who were you trying to defend yourself from?”

Now that I stood before Arceus, it was totally transparent that there was only one possible answer. It wasn’t the answer I wanted to acknowledge, but it was the answer nonetheless.

“I was trying to defend myself from Your will, Arceus” I uttered with a gulp.

“Precisely,” the King of Everything replied with an exasperated snort. “So what do you think your punishment should be, Spencer Teller?”

I gulped again. “ Punishment?”

Despite being in some of the world’s freshest air, my lungs felt like they were folding in on themselves. The sky was closing in like the walls of a trash compactor, ready to condemn me to a terrible fate.

“Well, yes. You broke the cosmic law, and therefore you should be punished. In the words of Billy Talonflame, this is how it is and this is how it goes. You’re not going to escape reality, no matter how much you want to.”

“ Reality? This feels like a nightmare!”

“If you believe this is a nightmare, Spencer Teller, you will not like to see what’s in store. As someone who dares to insult me, I hereby consign you to a different sort of nightmare. Would you like to hear the nature of this nightmare?”

“Uh…I’d rather not.”

“It makes no difference, because you’re about to experience it either way. You see, the Underworld is sometimes known as the eternal nightmare. And there’s a reason for that.”

My heart stopped. (Technically, if I were dead, my heart had already ceased functioning, but let’s not get into such semantics).

“You will find yourself in the darkest corner of the Underworld for all of eternity. Because I know you despise uncertainty - “.

“How do You know that?”

“Because I’m omnipotent, okay? I know where you live, so it’s no use hiding. Over the course of the rest of…oh, roughly eternity…you will be subjected to all the tortures the Underworld has to offer. However, the next torture is randomly selected, so you won’t know what is coming next until you actually experience it.”

In other words, I was going to hell, and I had to deal with it. Game over.

“So long, Spencer Teller! Better luck next time!”

(Insert a horizontal line here)

As I emerged from the cocoon of unconsciousness, I became aware of the sheer number of pain points on my body.

I ached all over as though I’d just lost a wrestling match, envisioning the numerous bruises that no doubt adorned my body. I moaned.

“He’s awake” I heard someone say.

“Took him long enough” a different tone, this one clearly belonging to a female, muttered. “Calvin, I want you to get out of the room for a bit while I examine him.”

I tried to open my eyes, but couldn’t. Doing so would take too much energy, and besides, it hurt!

“You’re a very lucky lion, boy” the woman stated. “If not for my son, you’d be history.”

Lion?

I opened my mouth to speak. My throat felt drier than a furnace on full blast.

“Stay still,” the woman told me firmly. “You’re too weak to rise.”

I grimaced again. What had I been through that made me too weak simply to speak?

And then I remembered: I’d been on a ski trip with three of my friends. (Well, if that first dream was any indication, Hunter was no longer my friend. But whatever - I had more pressing worries at the moment).

After that, I’d gotten separated from the group. Not only that, but I’d ended up in an avalanche all alone, having been swept down the mountainside for quite some distance. Darkness had taken me soon afterward, and I hadn’t expected to see light ever again.

I tried once more to talk, but it felt as though my vocal cords were wired differently. Now, I was used to my brain working differently from most people’s, but at least I talked the same way, right?

Well, no more.

“Lion?” I enquired.

“Open your eyes, little lion man” the woman stated, and I did as I was told.

I found myself lying supine on a very soft sofa in what looked like the living room of a small log cabin. It was the kind of cabin that upper-class honeymooners would pay lots of money to stay in with their betrothed - rustic, yet properly furnished at the same time with all sorts of blankets and fixtures.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Where…am I?” I wondered aloud.

The woman walked into view, and I realized that she wasn’t what I typically thought of when I heard the word woman. Rather, she was a Pokémon.

More specifically, a majestic lioness with a long ponytail of fur. A Pyroar, though said ponytail was far less colorful than it was for most members of the species. It was monochrome, consisting of fifty shades of gray.

“First, you might as well look at yourself. The question is not where you are, but rather whom.”

Well, I glanced down at my chest. (My head and neck had been propped up on a series of pillows, presumably for my comfort.) And I was arrested by the sight.

My first observation was that the transceiver was no longer strapped to a spot on my chest right over my heart. This made sense; it was no longer necessary for me to have this device now that I was safe and sound. (And yes, I felt safe in the company of this Pyroar. Ironic, right?)

However, my chest also consisted of dark gray fur as opposed to pale skin. And that’s when I knew.

“I’m…a Pokémon?” I wondered aloud.

The Pyroar nodded. “It seems that you are, yes.”

“But I wasn’t one before!” I blurted out. Too late, I realized that this may have been a fatal mistake. Why would a Pokémon (particularly one as potentially dangerous as a Pyroar) become more docile as a result of learning that I’d once been human?

The Pyroar chuckled without any humor. “Well, you are now. So you might as well get over it.”

“But how?” I asked. “How does that even happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“There are humans,” I asserted, “and there are Pokémon. There’s no such thing as turning from a human into a Pokémon. That just doesn’t happen.”

“Well, it did this time,” the Pyroar muttered. “In any case, what is your name?”

There’s no reason not to tell her - it’ll build trust between us. Besides, if these lions wanted me dead, they could have just left me in that snowy crypt.

“Spencer,” I stated. “Spencer Teller. I’m a student at Greater Pastoria University, GPU for short.”

“Hmmm. Well, I’m Frala” the Pyroar replied. “Frala Pyroar - we just use our species names as our surnames.”

“Wouldn’t that get confusing fast, though? What if there are more than one Pyroar with the same first name?”

“Eh, it works out as well as it needs to” Frala responded curtly. “Besides, you were a human - what gives you the right to question our naming conventions of all things?”

“I’m not questioning them,” I replied. “Just wondering.”

“You could’ve fooled me. In any case, I apologize if I seem…chilly”.

I sighed, glancing up at Frala with a slight smile. “Don’t worry about it. Of course you’re a bit chilly. This place is a bit chilly - indeed, more than a bit.”

Frala did not seem amused. “Jokes like that have no place when we’re discussing such things.”

“What are you talking about?”

It’s probably not wise to talk back to Frala when she’s been taking care of you for some amount of time. You should be more appreciative - she might have saved your life.

Frala sighed. “That is not very pertinent to your situation, Spencer.”

“Whatever” I mumbled. “So how long was I out?”

“Two days,” the lioness replied. “Long enough for many of your internal wounds to heal, though you will still be sore for a few more days to come.”

Wow, two days…I must’ve been in pretty bad shape. I guess being thrown off a mountain will do that to you.

“Thanks” I mumbled. Really, what else was I supposed to do? Get mad at Frala for not waking me up sooner?

“It’s not just the trauma that must heal,” Frala stated, “but also the aches from transforming. They’re akin to growing pains, but far more severe.”

“Why would there be growing pains from the transformation?”

The lioness gave me an odd side-eye look before responding as follows: “Just imagine your whole bone structure rewiring itself, a new body taking shape. I can’t envision it being a pleasant process, so count yourself lucky you weren’t awake for that.”

I suppose I was, but it was hard to feel lucky in the face of my current situation.

“I’ll bring Calvin in,” Frala said curtly. “I bet you’d love to meet my son?”

“Yeah, why not?” I suggested. “He saved my life, after all, you said?”

After the lioness nodded, she left the living room and entered an adjacent bedroom. A few seconds later, another Litleo came into the living room.

“Calvin? You’re a lot more colorful than your mother.”

As soon as I uttered those words, my face heated up. But I tried not to let that mistake get me down.

But Calvin merely chuckled. “Thanks for noticing, Spencer. How are you feeling?”

“Like my chest has been frozen, then microwaved.”

“I mean, that makes sense, considering that I had to pump it to bring you back to life. But whatever. Mom, is breakfast almost ready?”

“It should be ready now,” Frala said. It was then that I became aware of a bubbling sound, as well as the smell of steam and what may have been beef stew.

“Can I have any?” I enquired.

“Of course; you’ll need to get your strength up. Let me get you a bowl.”

Calvin ladled some stew into a bowl, bits of potato and some meat I didn’t recognize. “It’s lab-grown in a Petri dish - not a peach tree dish, but a Petri dish.”

“Right.”

The Litleo handed me a spoon. “Dig in.”

Well, that was easier said than done. When I was a kid, my parents had arranged for a therapist to come to our house and teach me how to cut my food properly. I had to hold my fork in the left hand, knife in the right, and it had to be done in exactly the right way to appease onlookers.

Why can’t I do it my way?, I’d asked my own mother.

Because it’s not an expected behavior, Spencer, she’d replied. So many of these tips were couched in the language of expected versus unexpected behavior that I almost become numb to those words.

My point is that learning to eat as a quadruped is even harder than doing so as a human being. As I picked up the fork with my front left paw, my grip shook.

“It’s far weaker than it was as a human, isn’t it?” Calvin stated.

I nodded, but this act caused the fork to fall onto the ground and the stew to spill on my chest. Luckily the stew wasn’t so hot that it hurt, but it would still take a while to clean out of my fur. I guess that’s a cross virtually all Pokémon have to bear.

Calvin sighed, then laughed weakly. “I thought that might happen. But not to worry! A little spill isn’t going to hurt you!”

I just laid there, my face burning hotter than the stew had been at its boiling point. I could only watch, my gaze following Calvin as he filled up another bowl for me, handing me a new fork.

“Let me clean you with a towel,” the Litleo stated.

My stomach churned as I realized the optics of Calvin wiping stew off of my chest in full view of Frala. And yeah, it’s easy to say that your own mother has seen far worse, but most people aren’t able to remember those events. At twenty-one, it’s positively mortifying.

In my weakened, transformed state, I had no choice but to submit to this process. Calvin picked each piece of stew out of my fur, one by one, and I winced as a few fur strands came loose.

“Sorry,” the Litleo told me. “It has to be done, though - you need to look presentable.”

Presentable? I’m practically an invalid!

Once Calvin had assured me that those few strands of fur would grow back, he cleaned the broth off my chest. He held another bowl of stew in front of me. “Open wide” he stated.

“Open wide? Who are you, my dentist?”

I paid dearly for this little quip. Calvin snorted.

“I’m not a dentist,” he replied, “but if you can’t eat neatly, I’m going to have to spoon-feed you.”

If my face could get any hotter than the surface of the sun, it probably did right there.

“That’s ridiculous,” I snapped. “Just put the bowl on the floor and I’ll eat out of it.”

“But that’s too messy, and besides, you can’t get off the couch. Doctor’s orders, the doctor being my mother.”

“Then I’ll skip lunch” I promised. “I would rather go on a hunger strike than eat like a baby!”

“Yeah, well, you’re not protesting anything other than nourishment. Skipping lunch is not an option. I would ask you if you wanted to be taken to the village hospital and given a feeding tube…”.

“Still preferable.”

“...but I’m not going to ask you. I’m going to tell you. It’s not a choice.”

I gulped.

“Open wide, Spencer.”

With a great sigh, I complied with Calvin’s demand. He scooped a couple chunks of potato into my mouth, and I chewed.

Honestly, the stew tasted pretty good, if you could look past the way I was eating.

“Relax, Spencer,” Calvin instructed me, probably sensing my humiliation. “This would be romantic if we were a couple.”

Oh, please.

The next bite was a bit of synthetic meat. Even though it was artificial, it tasted just like the real thing, maybe even a little better. Still, there’s something weird about eating fake meat.

“It’s not good for the environment to eat real meat,” Calvin stated, “and it would require killing our fellow living beings.”

He didn’t say this out loud, but on some level I felt like he was trying to shame the human race. That word choice carried this implication: We’re above that. Your kind aren’t.

Slowly but surely, I polished off the bowl. Again, I could tell that Frala was a capable cook in addition to being a dextrous doctor. I just wished I’d gotten to experience her culinary delights under more dignified circumstances.

“Good job, Spencer,” Calvin said.

I forced a smile, but the keyword there is forced. I was less than pleased with how much dignity I’d just sacrificed.

“I guess I’ll go for my afternoon walk soon.”

“Can I come?” I enquired. Physical activity sounded like a great way to distract myself from the embarrassment I still felt.

Calvin shook his head, not that I’d expected any other response. “I think that would be a bad idea. Mom says you had a lot of internal wounds and still need to recover. You’re not to leave the couch until at least tomorrow morning.”

“Fair enough,” I muttered.

The other Litleo was just about to leave when something else occurred to me. Something I should say to express gratitude, especially after Calvin had done so much for me without even knowing who I was.

Only what I was.

“Calvin?” I asked.

The Litleo turned to face me. “Yes?”

“Thank you,” I replied.

“For what?”

I shivered. “For saving my life. You didn’t have to do that, you know - you could’ve just left me there.”

“It would have been wrong. It’s fortunate enough that I’d been carrying a beacon, and that it was set to the wrong mode. Given how much went right that day, why waste that opportunity to save a life?”

I snorted. “I don’t feel as though a lot went right. I mean, look at me.”

Calvin narrowed his eyes. “You’re lucky to be alive, Spencer. You really are. I’ll send for my mother - she should check on you.”

Frala came in a minute later, wearing a severe expression. “Did you enjoy the stew?” she enquired.

“I did.” If you can ignore how much it cost me to eat it.

“I’m glad” the lioness responded, without a hint of emotion. “I put a lot of effort into it.”

“I can tell.”

“So I’m just going to use a healing spell on you - it’ll help you feel better soon enough. You should be back on your feet tomorrow after that.”

“Nice. Does it hurt?”

Frala laughed dryly. “I should hope not, given that it’s a healing spell.”

“Yeah, stupid question,” I admitted.

“Anyway, I would like you to be quiet right now so that I can concentrate on the incantation” the lioness announced firmly.

I gulped, but promised myself I would comply with Frala’s command. After all, it was in the interest of healing me up, wasn’t it?

So the lioness began singing the incantation. And let me tell you: I couldn’t understand the words, not remotely. It was rather like the videos I’d seen of people speaking in tongues at the Church of Arceus (not that I was a regular congregant). The sound was simultaneously pure gibberish and pure beauty, fully divine and fully human.

Whatever Frala was doing, it was working. With each word, pronounced in an ancient language that I did not know, a warm and fuzzy feeling set in over each sore spot in my body, and the pain dulled further. For audiences inclined to the same sport as me, a feeling that I can easily compare it to is lowering yourself into a hot tub after a long day on the slopes.

After a couple of minutes, the singing ceased, and I let out a great sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” I stated.

Frala pursed her lips. “Those are words I don’t hear often from your kind.”

“Huh.”

“In any case,” the lioness continued, “there’s another spell I’m going to use on you. It’s a sleeping spell, because you need your rest.”

“But I was just asleep for two days, Calvin said.”

“That does not matter,” Frala snapped. “The healing spells work best if you stay still, and that’s not going to happen if I let you stumble around like a drunkard trying to adjust to your new body.”

I was tempted to object, but then I saw the glint in Frala’s eyes and knew that this would get me nowhere. It was either accept this now, or fight back like a child who doesn’t want to take a bath and make a fool of myself. (Well, more so).

Frala began to sing again. This incantation was in a similar ancient language to the healing spell (at least, from what I could ascertain; I’m no linguist). However, the “warm and fuzzy” effect felt different, so I’ll compare it to something else.

When I was a child, I was rather afraid of physical contact at times, particularly with people I didn’t know well. That being said, I’d always adored the sensation of being cuddled, and when my parents had taken me to occupational therapy as a child, there’d been a colorful room full of items that were meant to stimulate my sensory needs.

One such item was a navy blue hammock I called the “cocoon swing.” I remembered climbing in there, and suddenly the fabric enveloped my 6-year-old body like a giant hug. It gave me the comfort of being embraced without the discomfort of physical contact with another human being. I would sit in there for many minutes; it was my favorite item in the room.

That’s the best analogy I can think of to describe the sensation brought upon me by the sleeping spell. It was as though some benevolent giant held me in his palm, squeezing me loosely enough that it wasn’t painful, but tightly enough to provide a comforting experience.

And then the drowsiness started, to the point where I seriously doubted that I’d be awake by the end of the song. But I tried to fight it, because I wanted to feel more of this “new sensation.”

But the singing stopped eventually. The last thing I heard was Frala’s tone, which was almost as icy as the avalanche I’d been fished out of.

“Stay there. You don’t want to be on your feet when it hits, because this spell takes effect very quickly.”

No fucking shit!

(Insert a horizontal line here)

Over the next two days, I recovered from my ordeal. When I woke up from my magically-induced slumber, I felt like a million bucks. Whatever healing spells Frala had used on me had clearly been effective.

However, I didn’t feel like a millionaire for long. That’s because the lioness ordered me to my feet the next day.

“Walk the length of this room and back” she commanded.

My muscles protested from lack of use. However, that was not even the biggest obstacle to my trek across the living room, because…

“I have four legs now!” I exclaimed.

Frala glared at me. “You’re surprised by this?”

“No. Well, yes. I didn’t think I’d wake up as a Pokémon.”

“If not for my son, you wouldn’t have woken up at all, so deal with it.”

“Savage” I muttered under my breath. I didn’t think it was loud enough for Frala to hear me, but I was sorely mistaken.

“Be nice, okay? Treat others the way you would like to be treated - that’s how we live in this household.”

“Fine.”

“Walk to the bedroom and back,” Frala snapped.

Yes, having four legs was a bit awkward, but it shouldn’t be too bad, I figured. After all, Pokémon did this all the time, just as naturally as humans. In many cases, they were even faster.

But there’s a world of difference between a natural-born Pokémon and a naturalized Pokémon, for lack of a better word.

I had not taken three steps before I wobbled significantly. I spread my “arms” out like the wings of an airplane to get my balance back.

Of course, it didn’t work. After all, these were not my arms, but rather my front legs. In the absence of them, I did not possess enough balance points to stay upright, and I fell to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Frala did not laugh, exactly, but she didn’t seem sorry either. With a slight smile, she said, “Just because you fell once does not mean you can’t cross the room. It’s not about how hard you can hit, it’s how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.”

“Clever. Did it take all day for you to come up with that line?”

The lioness grunted. “Just get back up and keep going.”

I fell twice more in my efforts to return to my feet, but eventually I was there again. And I awkwardly paced the room, wobbling all the way.

The whole time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Frala was…well, maybe not quite enjoying this. But I had an inkling that she might not be finding it a horrible thing that I struggled.

But why?

After all, if she had sufficient disdain for me to want me dead, she could have refused to heal me. But she’d continued with the spells and whatnot in an effort to get me back on my feet.

The sooner you’re well, the sooner you can leave. Isn’t that obvious?

Once I was back by the sofa, Frala ordered me to do the same thing again. And once again. My legs were feeling the punishment!

As though reading my mind, the lioness pursed her lips. “This isn’t punishment, Spencer. This is for your own good. This is therapy.”

Well, I wouldn’t say I feel that way. But okay.

Every hour or two, the lioness would instruct me to get off the couch again to walk around. Even though the distance wasn’t far (it was a small home, after all), the fact remained that I wasn’t used to this form. And I didn’t know what it would take to become used to it.

When dinner came (more of the stew, something I could hardly complain about), Frala fortunately didn’t make me submit to such a mortifying eating method. Instead, after much pleading on part, she promised to place a bowl on the floor.

“Can’t I sit at the table like you all?” I asked.

“Nope,” Frala insisted. “This is the compromise. You’re not going to be able to eat with your paws - let me just put pads on the floor.

I shuddered yet again when I saw the absorbent pads that were arranged around my bowl. They looked uncomfortably close to the pads you put pets on when they weren’t yet able to avoid having accidents on the carpet.

“I won’t be messy, Frala,” I told her. “I promise.”

“Easier said than done. Like I said, this is the compromise - I could give you a bib too.”

Is that a pun? Is she trying to make fun of the fact that I was found wearing snow bibs? Because if not.

Yes, it’s one thing to be treated like a child so young you can’t feed yourself. But it’s quite another to be treated like you’re subhuman. That is, after all, how we treat pets; they’re commodities to be bought and sold, not just living things whom we are meant to form relationships with.

As I chowed down on the stew, I was all too aware of Frala and Calvin having their dinner conversation. They were speaking softly and evidently not afraid to show it. Which probably meant only one thing: They were talking about me, without me.

By the end of the day I’d become incredibly restless from sitting on my rump for all those hours. What was more, I could feel myself regaining strength. In other words, I was no longer content to be confined to the cabin.

“You should go to sleep” Frala asserted.

I frowned. “I don’t think I can sleep, Frala”.

“Well, eating and sleeping are two things you must do to improve your condition. Otherwise you’ll wear yourself out if you aren’t careful.”

“Maybe I will” I conceded. Then I had an idea. “Could you use the sleep spell on me again?”

Drifting off in that invisible cocoon swing was the first thing I wanted to do. Unfortunately, because the Pyroar shook her head, it seemed like the last thing she wanted me to do.

“I’m afraid not,” Frala muttered.

“Is it like a narcotic that you can get addicted to?” I wondered aloud. After all, the opioid crisis was a thing.

“It’s not that” the lioness stated sharply. “These spells aren’t drugs, they’re natural. But you won’t have access to me all the time to help you sleep whenever you want.”

There were more than several (read: more than seven ) ways to interpret that, so I decided not to bother. It would only make my brain hurt in a way that risked impeding sleep. Sleep was, of course, what I required, even if Frala refused to induce it for me.

“I’ve got stronger medicine than that,” Calvin said. The other Litleo was possibly just as restless as I was.

“Stronger medicine? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Calvin replied, “that I know something that might cheer you up. Or rather, I think it could work out.”

“What’s that?” I asked him, wiggling the digits on my back paws. In layman’s terms, this can be called “stimming.”

“Have you ever thought of being in a guild, Spencer?”

I flinched at the question; at least, I would have flinched if my body weren’t pinned down by a series of heavy blankets.

You see, where I came from, guilds were the stuff of legend. They belonged in fantasy literature concerning mythical lands and exotic creatures. Not on Earth, not in the context of something I could possibly join.

“What’s the guild?”

“It’s an organization in the village. Run by this Torchic named Agarth. They’re formally known as the Whitehall Adventure Society Prime, or WASP for short.”

“ Wasp? Like those little buggers who just sting you for fun?”

“No. It’s just an acronym, Spencer. Deal with it. You shouldn’t get worked up over an acronym of all things.”

Ironically, as I found myself in what should have been a tranquil, cozy environment within a wintry log cabin, I was more on-edge than I’d been all day. Calvin was right that I shouldn’t get worked up over it, but it was hard to resist the irritability.

Don’t let your impulses get the better of you, I told myself. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a human or a Pokémon.

“So what does this wasp group do?” I replied, somewhat testily.

“Well, all sorts of things. They help out around the village whenever it’s needed, such as replanting apple trees after a disturbance, or painting houses. But their most exciting work is going into the mystery dungeons scattered all over the world.”

Mystery dungeons? Hold the phone!

“Those aren’t real, are they?” I asked.

Calvin snorted. “No, they’re real. You humans are probably taught that they’re just a myth, but my mind know better. We don’t dismiss things out of hand just because they seem surprising.”

“But that’s ridiculous. Why should I have to prove a negative? If it’s true, you should be able to show me that it is.”

“You’ve got to see it for yourself to believe it” Calvin asserted.

I couldn’t think of a good counter- argument to that, so I didn’t even try.

“So you think it’ll help me sleep better, knowing that I’ve got something to look forward to in the morning?” I enquirer somewhat testily.

“Well, yes. Maybe you won’t be so scared and worried. Was there anyone with you in the woods?”

It was then that I realized that not only had I been alone in the forest for two days, but I’d spent two days unconscious following the avalanche. Including today, it had been almost a week since the last time I’d seen Hunter, Manuel, and Xander.

Yes, if you gave me a bow and arrow and a target with Hunter’s face on it, I’d probably aim for the bull’s-eye with all the arrows I had. Granted, I wasn’t the best shot, and I’d probably be even worse as a Pokémon. But it would at least be an option.

That being said, considering how much time had passed, the prospect of being reunited with my three frat-boy “friends” seemed ever more remote. Quite frankly, I was okay with that.

I guess I have to make new friends now. True friends don’t abandon you when you take a piss of all things.

“ Yeah, I’ll come with you in the morning,” I assured Calvin.

“So you promise?”

“Yeah, I promise on..:whatever you people swear an oath on here.”

“Right. I think from here on out, we can agree that we won’t lie to one another.”

“Good call.”

“Boys, I’m sure you’re having a very wholesome and productive conversation right now, but Spencer needs his rest if you’re going to join the guild tomorrow. That won’t happen if you two chat all night.”

“Right” Calvin replied. “Good night, Spencer.”

“Good night, Calvin.”

As much as I’d come to trust my fellow Litleo after such a short time, he was wrong about one thing: Knowing that I had something to look forward to in the morning didn’t make it easier to sleep.