The rain lasted for a solid sixteen hours.
Leo wasn’t actually sure how long it rained, he was more of guessing based on how the rain started around mid afternoon, and ended mid morning the next day.
Which sucked because now Leo was cold and stiff from laying beneath a tree for that long, unable to really cover himself at all and the tree cover only providing the bare minimum of support.
And now he was hungry, so as he slid out of the tree cover, the wet soil clinging to his hands and knees and squelching beneath his feet, he made immediate plans to procure food.
Steam rolled off the ground as the early morning sun warmed it, setting the world into a picturesque moment that Leo had to stop and admire.
The morning sun filtered through the trees in individual rays, and the pine needles glistened with water.
Leo groaned and stretched, his knees and back popping loudly.
The cold clung to his body bone-deep, and he wiggled his fingers in an attempt to bring life back into them.
He stamped his feet and started moving, heading towards the Slowpoke herd, and jumping up and down to get his blood pumping, trying to alleviate at least some of the chill.
So fixated on the cold he was, he almost didn’t notice the churned soil where the Wooper had been digging the previous day.
Leo hesitated for a moment, debating coming back later to investigate.
No, he thought to himself.
I should take a look now, before I forget.
So he bent over, searching around for what the Wooper had dug up.
It took a good few minutes for Leo to find anything, most of the evidence having been washed away by the rain save for the holes in the ground the Wooper had left, and what he did find filled him with hope.
A plant had been dug up, with broad, dark green leaves and a large, round root that had chunks torn out of it.
It looked an awful lot like a tuber – a wild potato maybe?
Leo searched for more, the distinct leaves proving easy to find.
He dug one up with enthusiasm, his hands clawing at the soft soil, until it revealed to him its prize – an unblemished, albeit dirt covered, root that fit snugly into the palm of his hand.
It was maybe three inches long, and an inch around.
Looking at it, Leo could see the resemblance to a potato, and when he broke it open with a wet snap to taste it, his suspicions were confirmed.
The pale white meat of the tuber tasted like a bitter potato, and Leo laughed aloud.
Here he was, surrounded by vegetables, and he didn’t even know it.
Still, he couldn’t help but grin wildly.
As terrible as the situation was currently, Leo could survive.
“No, not just survive,” Leo told himself, digging up more of the pseudo potato plants for breakfast.
“These mountains can provide everything I need to thrive.”
…
Rock clashed against metal and sparks flew, landing in the loosely packed pile of dead grass and pine needles.
Smoke began to rise from the set of kindling and Leo scrambled forward onto his hands and knees, his knife and the stone he had been using tossed to the side as he leaned down to gently blow on the budding fire, coaxing the sparks to bloom into a full-blown flame.
Soon enough flames started to catch on the tee-pee style formation of twigs settled around the kindling, and Leo began to add bigger sticks to it, feeding the fire but trying not to smother it with too much fuel.
It took maybe two minutes for Leo to be satisfied that his fire wouldn’t die, and he laughed at the sight of the small, merry flame slowly growing in size before him.
“What do you think of that, huh?” Leo boasted smugly to the Slowpoke not but three feet to his right, its blank eyes staring at the flames.
“Sloooow?” It called, tilting its head to the side, tail slowly wagging back and forth.
“Finally, I have successfully found a replacement for matches – though I should probably still figure out the hand drill method, don’t you think?” Leo asked, crossing his arms and sitting back, content to just watch for now.
The Slowpoke made a strange noise in the back of its throat and, with a slow, almost methodical movement, opened its mouth to shoot a jet of water at the flame, successfully dousing it and the pile of sticks Leo had collected behind it.
Leo’s jaw dropped, the remains of his creation now just a pile of blackened twigs and smoke.
His first successful fire without using matches, and a stupid Slowpoke destroyed it.
“Slooow,” the Slowpoke said, and Leo could almost see the smug gleam in its eyes as it turned to look at him.
“You little jerk,” Leo hissed, resisting the urge to shove the Slowpoke away.
With slow, methodical movements the Slowpoke turned around and ambled back to its herd, greeting its fellow Slowpoke with low calls and the occasional nudge.
Leo just glared as it left, uncaring about how upset Leo was with it.
He couldn’t stay mad though, and slumped forward.
At least he knew he could start a fire now, and he hadn’t really needed it at the moment.
Still, it would have been nice to revel in his victory for a few more moments before the Slowpoke put out the fire.
Stretching and standing, Leo turned his attention to the Slowpoke herd.
They had led him to a big lake, he estimated it was probably at least a mile long at its widest, though the Slowpoke had congregated where the river flowed into the lake.
The Slowbro swam lazily through the waters, occasionally diving beneath the surface, while the Slowpoke lounged on the shores, tails dangling in the waters.
Three Butterfree danced in the air above the lake, glittering scales falling from their wings to land on the surface of the water, which was set to gleaming by the mid-morning sun.
To the right side of the lake dense trees grew, following up the entirety of the mountain.
More mountains rose in front and to the left of the lake, great behemoths of rock and stone that held untold secrets – or so Leo liked to romanticize it.
“What a beautiful day though, isn’t it?” Leo murmured.
And truly it was.
The air was crisp and cool, the slight breeze rustled the trees, and the buzzing of insects coupled with the occasional cry of a pokémon created a symphony that flowed through Leo’s body and touched his very soul.
There could be a lot to complain about his situation, that is true, but Leo would be lying if he said he wasn’t having fun.
Adventure hadn’t been laid at his feet, he had been submerged fully into it – there was no escaping it even if he wanted to, not that he did.
He just had to force himself not to think about all that he left behind, all he had left undone.
Which at the moment, was hard to do.
Leo let out a breath and looked at the sky, a singular bird pokémon flying high above.
“For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: It might have been!” he recited slowly, drawing upon his memories of a poem he had read long ago written by one John Greenleaf Whittier.
Leo had enjoyed poetry to some degree, but never really got too into it.
There had always been other things to do, but the quote here had always stuck out to him and was just a bit too relevant.
He didn’t want to think that he had been given another chance in this…new life, for that is all Leo could really think to call it, because that would be something along the lines of admitting defeat.
He had been young, he had found a purpose, and now, all he could dream about his old life was what might have been.
He might have been great, or good, or…any number of things.
Now he was here, in this world, with no explanation as to why.
It had better be a good reason, Leo thought, a bubble of anger worming its way into his stomach.
“But there’s no point in dwelling on ‘might have beens.’ You’ve still got things to do Leo,” he told himself, tamping down his anger and pushing away his thoughts.
“You’ve got an alternative fire method down, and you still need to figure out the hand drill method, but right now you need to secure another supply of meat besides mooching off of the Slowpoke.
So let’s start with tracking, and figuring out traps,” he muttered, rubbing his face.
Sure, he could gather edible plants for food, but he had been considering another problem – clothing.
He had no idea what time of year it was, and this high in the mountains things were sure to get cold in the winter.
Leo was not dressed for winter.
All he had was his black, Billy Joel concert t-shirt and plain jeans, which spelled almost certain death during the first snow.
So he wanted to find and hunt a furry pokémon that he could potentially tan and turn into a coat or something.
Tanning leather was another problem though, but one he’d have to figure out once he got around to successfully hunting things.
“It’s a good thing I’m a master of camouflage,” Leo joked with a laugh, stripping completely nude and traipsing towards the lake.
First he was going to “camouflage” himself, then he would go start tracking and trying to sneak up on things.
He’d seen a few Sentret and Rattata around, they should make good practice targets.
A wide grin spread across Leo’s face as his toes sunk into the mud of the shore.
“Who am I kidding?
This is just an excuse to play in the mud,” he declared proudly, and promptly fell flat on his face to roll about on the muddy shoreline.
He slathered and splashed mud all over himself, sticking blades of grass and twigs into the larger clumps that stuck to him more for his amusement than for any form of camouflage.
A part of him wondered how well this would work, another didn’t really care.
Though that internal debate was settled mostly by the sudden appearance of a Slowpoke, dropping itself onto the ground next to him and thrashing about, covering its pink hide with mud.
It stopped after a brief second and stared blankly at Leo, cocking its head to the side with a smear of dark brown mud on top of its head.
“Slooow?” it called, and Leo laughed.
He laughed hard and long, especially when more Slowpoke came to join him in rolling in the mud, a curious display, he was sure.
He could only imagine how it would look to any passersby to see a naked boy slathering himself with mud while Slowpoke rolled all around him.
And that thought was nothing short of hilarious, so Leo laughed deeply and fully for the first time since he had arrived here.