At the edges of the rocky terrain section of the pasture, tucked in the opposite back corner away from the bug-occupied forest area, I pondered what I should transform into for my wandering around the area. After my pondering to myself, I realized how limited in scope my practical experience in my assorted forms was. I should probably spend more times in different forms, but also be choosing what form I was in based on the environment around me. There was a reason that the Geodude, Dwebble, and the Arons all decided to spend most of their time around here, after all. All this rocky terrain should make it easier to practice my rock-type moves, utilizing present material instead of having to expend more energy to create the rocks as the Dwebble had in our battle in the grassy field.

After some contemplation, I let the energy course through me as my blobby body rounded out and grew firmer, my nubby arms extending into full, well-defined appendages. Newly-made fingers curled into a fist, and I felt the strength of my own grasp as I punched downward onto the rock surface beneath me without restraint. There was a dull sense of impact, but not any sense of pain. I had opted to transform into a Geodude myself.

I felt very stable, honestly. Sturdy. It was a different feeling than I had during my brief foray into an Aron transformation. As an Aron, I felt like I was a medieval knight, wearing a suit of plated armor. A strong defense, but that I was potentially still vulnerable through any gaps, or if that armor should fracture. That fit with what I knew of Aron as well, as they periodically shed their armor as they outgrew it. While it was a part of them, it was a potentially disposable shield.

While I was a Geodude, though, my entire body felt that sense of durability, of solidness. I wasn't shielded by something firm and hard, my entire body became my defense instead. It felt pretty good, honestly, and I wondered if Fighting types would have this same feeling. I suppose rather than feeling like their entire body was their shield, they would likely think of their entire body as their sword. Fighting types were known for their explosive force, after all.

For the next few minutes I spent some time adjusting myself to yet another form of unfamiliar locomotion. I was still left almost hopping along as I moved, but it was more throwing myself forward with my fingers digging into the rocky terrain and flinging my body than the tensing and outward push of undulation my blobby form typically used. I stumbled a bit, and flung myself with more force than I intended more than once, resulting in a clattering crash against the side of one of the large boulders dotting the area. At least it didn't hurt.

I threw a practice punch at the open air before me, a sharp sound of wind following my shadowboxing. I had no idea about forms for punching, about how to strike quickly and while conserving as much energy as possible while still landing the hardest blow, but the instincts of my body were filling in that gap. The instincts of a Geodude were probably a better trainer for punching than most anyone else, as their combat prowess was almost entirely determined by their arms and how effectively they could land their punches, or how accurate and powerful their throws were.

However many times I threw a punch, though, my instincts didn't seem satisfied. I was noticing every little thing I did wrong. I twisted my arm too much on one punch. On another, I extended my reach too far and tilted slightly to the side as it threw off my center of gravity. My mostly-rounded body was easy to rock and tilt, so it wasn't difficult to feel as if quick, broad motions were making me lose balance.

I frowned to myself, and focused on improving. Again. Again. Again. I punched out with each arm, alternating. Noting down every flaw I could find with my form diligently, and striving to work them out of my punches with each following attempt. Each time, I wanted to lessen those errors until I could remove them completely. Dozens of punches. Hundreds of punches. I had utterly lost myself in my rhythm, my focus unbreaking as I stared forward at my extending, rock-textured arm with each forward jab. Better! But still not perfect. A grunt of irritation drifted from me, and I did it again. The sun shifted overhead, slowly lowering toward the horizon.

My body never felt tired from the motions. After this many punches and so long exerting myself, I should feel like I had noodles for arms. And yet I was still managing to actually improve my form with each blow. I was steady and firm, like the rock I was made out of. Stable. Nothing could shake me, and I was going to get this right. I just needed a little more practice and then-

A vehement growling sound emitted from my core, and it was enough to jar me from the trance-like practice state I was in. Glancing around me, the sky was a deep orange and the sun was a fading semicircle on the horizon line. How long had I been practicing? I had completely missed dinner, and I didn't do any of the exploring that I had set out to do. What had started out as limbering up and adjusting had turned into a full-fledged training session.

Hm. If I needed to focus on a task in the future, an inorganic Pokémon like Geodude might be a great boon. I didn't feel any sense of thirst, I never ran out of breath, I didn't feel any ache or tiredness set in from my practice. At least, not physical tiredness. Now that I had stopped my practice, I actually did feel a sensation of mental fatigue from my constant observation and analysis of my punching training. I was almost glad that my body had gotten hungry and declared a protest, or I might have not have stopped all night. Even in the fading light of sunset, it still seemed just about as bright as when I started, just that everything was shaded in different hues. I might have practiced the night away!

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I considered heading back to the house and grabbing some berries, but the idea lacked appeal to me for some reason. I loved berries, so the problem must be something about being in this transformation, right? I don't think I've ever seen a Geodude eat, but I was pretty sure I remembered that the line was supposed to eat rocks, and that was how they repaired any damage incurred from battling or training. After all, bits of rock could still chip off the rock-type Pokémon and needed to be cared for somehow. Hm.

Should I try it? I mean, I'm not too thrilled on finding out what a rock might taste like, but it seemed like it was worth a shot. No, no! Come on, I said that I was going to get outsiders involved before I experimented in any food-related transformation testing. I'm going to stick with it! I'll feel really silly if I eat a rock, transform back, and suddenly have a rock in my belly that I need to spit back up.

I dropped my transformation before the voice in the back of my head convinced me to try it anyway. I admit, my curiosity was probably stronger than was healthy. If anyone told me that I'd have issues restraining myself from putting a rock in my mouth to see what it tasted like, I'd have told them they were crazy... but, here we are. Once my natural blobbiness had returned, I began to hop my way across the open pasture back toward the house. I'm sure I can bug Mable into letting me have something to eat since I missed dinner.

I could tell that something wasn't right, though, as I approached the back door of the house. The lights were on in the kitchen, and I could see Mable pacing back and forth. Mable was almost always calm and collected, so what could have her so worked up? I leapt upward and latched both my arms around the doorknob, a maneuver I had started practicing as I was tired of transforming every time I wanted in the house, and I didn't want to feel like a house cat waiting for someone to get the door for me, either. The latch opened with a click, and I was able to hear Mable's half of the phone conversation as the door swung open.

"-can't just put them all in their Pokéballs until this blows over, because they aren't captured Pokémon! All the Pokémon on the pasture are raised here wild, to- ... Yes, I'm aware that's-" Mable kept jarringly drawing to a halt halfway through her sentences, like she was being cut off by whatever was being said on the other end of the call. Her expression was twisted into an aggressive frown, and her voice was raised, clearly worked up over something. "No, them being wild Pokémon does not mean that they're not of concern! These Pokémon are being raised for use in education and- ... The trainer school-! ... This isn't a matter of money, this is a matter of the well-being of the Pokémon under my care! ... Not a high enough priority? Tauros dung!" With that uncharacteristic anger flaring, she hung up.

Mable just stood there, breathing heavily and glaring at the phone as if she could petrify whoever she had been speaking to through the phone line, before putting it down with a sigh. I hopped up onto the counter, and Mable jostled in place, startled. "Goodness. Well, things aren't great, Ditto, since you overheard that. The Pokémon Ranger that was sent out to investigate the Santalune Forest? He showed up back at the station, carried by his Swanna, unconscious and heavily poisoned. He's still in the hospital."

I tensed up at that, feeling vaguely guilty, as it had been my report about something amiss that sent the fellow into the area where it happened. But at least that meant that they knew what was going on, right? As if sensing my thoughts, Mable sighed and continued. "They're treating it as an aggressive swarm event, as if the Beedrill were disturbed by something. They're locking down the forest, restricting those who are allowed to pass through, and they're just hoping that time will settle the Beedrill back down."

They're just going to wait? My jaw went slack from disbelief. They were locking down the forest and sticking their fingers in their ears, chanting 'lalalala, problem go away!' and that was it? What sort of a response was that? Then I realized that the man they sent was still unconscious, and he couldn't report what he had seen. He was in critical condition, and who knew when- or if- he was going to recover? What if it wasn't a freak accident? What if, say, it was a group controlling a large number of Beedrill who didn't want their actions reported on? I felt a chill run through my body. If that Swanna hadn't escaped with the Ranger on its back... would they even have found him again?

I made a sharp motion to form an 'x' over my chest, showing how much I disapproved, and Mable nodded. "I know. I trust that you saw people catching Beedrill, a lot of them, but they're just rationalizing that the Beedrill are upset after a botched capturing attempt by some trainers. This happens with aggressive species like Beedrill, from time to time. Even if I trust that something is different about this because you say so, that's what it looks like. Waiting it out does work when colonies are bothered, after all. They're encouraging people out on the fringes, like me, to head into town and accept shelter if we have concerns over our safety... but they won't allow wild Pokémon, and they won't send anyone out to stand guard over the pasture, either! We're not a 'probable target' for an angry swarm of Beedrill. They don't think they're going to wander, after all. That's what I was arguing with them about."

A random swarm wouldn't bother a place like this, it was true. After all, the perimeter of the grounds was treated with repellant chemicals, and the wood itself of the fence was too. Even if they could enter from the sky, why would they? If Mable left and headed for the town out of concern for her safety, it would just be a small wood fence and whatever resistance the pasture could muster from anyone walking in and taking their pick of the Pokémon present.

I felt anger flare up in me again, hot and furious rage. A feeling that was so unfamiliar to me, someone who always saw themselves as a rational, mostly-pacifist person. This was my home. I might not have intended to choose it, but it chose me from how warm and welcoming it was. The safety I and other Pokémon felt in this place was important. Was I willing to fight for it, if I had to? Absolutely.

The only thought in my head was that I deeply hoped I was wrong. That I was thinking too much about the worst possibilities of what could be happening. That I had seen too many anime plots, and my brain was playing tricks on me. As much as I hoped it, I didn't believe it. My gut was telling me that we needed to be ready for anything. I grabbed a notepad and a pen, and began my scribbling suggestions on what we could do to keep an eye out for anything odd and have the Pokémon ready in case of an emergency. If anything happened, well, at least we'd have prepared for it.