Contents:
Aurora
Obvious exits:
North <N> leads to Overgrown Lands - Route 11: Off the Route.

Everything is pale grey, veiled by mist. It's warm, humid, and still. In the forest, only the nearest tree branches show their full color; more distant trees and branches are colorless and indistinct in the pallid grey fog, looking ghostly and not quite real. While at the coast, the sea is sluggish and grey as fog lays on its surface like a thick wet blanket.

It's a dismal day in more ways than one. A thick coating of grey settles upon the island, and it's difficult to see, smell, or hear outside. The hot, sticky atmosphere leaves much to be desired, and most pokemon on the island, depressed that it's not turning out to be another beautiful, clear day, have succumbed into their dens and trees to wait out the day, hoping tomorrow will be a better one. For one Growlithe family in the Assisi Barn, however, tomorrow holds little more relief than today, but it's not because of the weather - it's because one of the sons in the family, after an unfortunate mishap, has found himself injured with teeth marked on his side. The blood stains have long since crept out of his fur, and the wound itself seems to be healing rather well, but still his condition gets only worse with time, not better. Never one to react very well in tense, stressful situations, the father of the family paces around the barn at a slow, uneasy pace, looking over at the sleeping Briska with a sense of anxiety about him. He's finished the day's hunting, but it took twice as long as usual, no doubt because his head wasn't in it at all. The little female puppies, sensing their brother's hurt condition, keep the noise level to a minimum, content to sit on their haunches and whisper to each other worriedly. Even black-furred Flame, usually detached from the family unit, finds himself creeping an eye over to his sibling now and again, though he's careful to make sure nobody catches him.

The fog is grey-white in the light of mid-day.

In a situation like this, one person usually has to remain calm, collected and rational, so that others can be reassured when they say that everything is going to be okay. And Aurora seems to be trying to do her best to fulfil this role - she's sitting with the female pups, keeping her eyes on Briska and on the pups by her side, answering their whimpered questions with calm, quiet woofs, her tail slapping gently on the floor as she watches. Still, she's not totally calm, as shown by the quick, twitchy reactions she shows when something not in her immediate field of vision moves. It's understandable, given the circumstances, and luckily most of the inhabitants of the barn are keeping their distance from the family.

Thump, thump, thump. Peppy paces to one side of the barn. Bump, bump, bump. He walks to the other side. His head is low, his eyes half closed, his large white tuft falling in front of him. His drooping tail behind him bobbles and bounces as he walks, moving by no force of Peppy's own tail muscles. After enough of this marching back and forth, to the point where it's almost certain that he's getting dizzy from going around in so many circles, he finally comes to a stop, raising his head slightly and shifting his green eyes to his son's closed ones. He then turns to his mate, regarding her for a moment as though trying to figure out if she's inwardly as still and calm as she appears from the outside. With almost a sense of hesitation, Peppy takes one step in her direction, pauses as he glances to the floor at his side, takes another hesitant step, then eventually walks over to her. He's spoken very little all day, mostly just the basics - "<I'm going out hunting,>" "<How's Briska doing?>" "<Think he'll be okay?>" That's why it may come as a light surprise when his voice shatters the uneasy silence as he approaches Briska's sleeping form, asking Aurora, <... How are you holding up?> No doubt she's as worried as he is, and though his voice is a little cracked and nervous, there's genuine concern.

<He should be-> Aurora's response to Peppy comes surprisingly fast, before she stops, blinks, looks up at him and grins a little sheepishly. <Sorry, I thought you were going to ask how Briska was doing. I wasn't listening properly...> She shakes her head briskly, then smiles faintly at Peppy, returning her attention to Briska's sleeping form as she replies, <I'm fine, thanks. It's Briska we should be thinking about...> Her voice trails off, and she stares rather wistfully at her son for a few moments, before adding abruptly, <Is there any way we could find a pokemon who could heal him? Some of them can do that. Or... even a human?>

Everything is pale grey, veiled by mist. It's warm, humid, and still.

And forth the first time today, Peppy smiles, and though it's not the widest or brightest of smiles, it still adds a bit of hope to his otherwise droopy, depressed demeanor. He looks back down at his son, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at him. Briska seems to be having an uneasy sleep, but every time he tries to move, his side burns with pain, and, with a subconscious whimper of pain, he settles back into his slumber. Peppy sighs as he watches this, shaking his head very slightly before looking back up to Aurora. <Of course,> he replies to her, though doesn't throw in his usual enthusiastic nod or other sign of cheerful compliance. <But... I want to make sure you're okay too. I mean, if you're... you're, uh...> He pauses for a second, shifting his weight to different limbs apprehensively. <... You know... like... never mind.> And with a headshake, he quickly hops onto his next point to reply. Cringing slightly as he speaks, Peppy mentioned, <A human wouldn't be a good idea. You and I could take care of ourselves if something went wrong, but... he's...> His voice trails off as his mind heads off on some related tangent, and he squints up at his forehead for a moment as something comes to mind. A rarity, no doubt.

Saving the data is only the beginning... (Saving!)

Peppy's hesitant concern for his mate makes Aurora prick her ears up as he speaks, then relax them when his train of thought gets diverted. Evidently she's used to him doing that. When he finishes speaking, though, she nods slowly, taking her eyes off the poorly puppy to look at her mate. <You're right about humans, yes...> she woofs quietly. <There are some nice ones, and we've met people like that before, but there are also some not-very-nice ones, and some who are nasty...> Shaking her head and shuddering slightly, Aurora glances back at the female puppies, who are whispering amongst themselves again in low, fearful tones. She gives them a nod and the most reassuring smile she can muster, and then looks at Peppy once more. <How about pokemon, then? There are pokemon who can heal others, right? I mean, my trainer Karen said that some could heal themselves, but aren't there ones that can heal other pokemon? There... there must be, somewhere...> The hope and enthusiasm in her voice at the start has almost drained out of it by the last few words, as Aurora's head dips lower and lower towards the ground.

Peppy nods a little in reply, though again, there's little excitement behind it. Aurora's gradual depression is reflecting off of her mate, and he can only stand there for a moment, stretching his head to think, trying to shove aside the worries in his mind to get it as clear as possible. <There are,> he speaks at least, <Those... biggish... light pokemon, the ones with the eggs, that live at the buildings Patch took me to... The ones with the nice person who always helped me heal when I was hurt. But I've... um, I've never seen one of those out here. Or out anywhere in the wild, I think.> A lone little bug, happily buzzing about in this sticky weather that it is made for, comes flying along and sticks itself onto Peppy's side, and, almost involuntarily, Peppy plops down on his rump, raising a hind leg to paw at it idly. <However,> he woofs as he scratches. <Sometimes when I wasn't hurt too bad, or when there wasn't a building-with-the-nice-person...> Fly gone, Peppy's paw thumps back on the ground. <Patch had this thing that was... uh... you know, she'd use it, kind of spray it or rub it, and it would hurt less. Do you remember that?> As he speaks, Peppy's voice, accidentally or not, slowly changes back into its old, more cheerful form, perhaps fueled by this new optimistic thought.

Nodding to her mate as his descriptions apparently tally with what she remembers, Aurora replies, <Yes, I remember those. We went to those sometimes.> Her reply finished before the bug has been swatted, Aurora watches the insect's near-death at Peppy's paws, and follows it as it buzzes around the air above her, finally settling on her nose. The Growlithe is almost cross-eyed at this point as she tries to look at the fly, and she raises her paws to swat gently at it, her paws missing the sedately-seated insect several times. With a whisper of, <That tickles...> she sniffs, then sneezes, and the fly hurtles off her nose and into the air again, where it buzzes angrily at her for a few seconds. <What were we talking about?> Aurora asks Peppy in a rather dazed tone, then says, <Oh, yes. I remember those, too. I think they're called Potions, or something like that. They made aches and pains get less, and even go away sometimes.>

Potions. The word rings some bell in Peppy's head. Some lost thought is grasped once again, and the pup's eyes widen slightly as the lightbulb above his head flicks on. <That's what it is,> he notes to her, his head bobbling up and down as he turns his eyes down to Briska. <That's what it is,> he repeats, more softly this time, as he runs his eyes across Briska's unsettled form. He remains silent for a few moments, supposing Aurora doesn't speak; if she does have something more to say, he'll wait (rather unPeppylike, compared to his usual attentiveness when it comes to listening to his far more wise mate) impatiently for her to stop, or maybe even interrupt to ask her one small question. <It... ... it couldn't hurt, could it? The Potion, I mean?> Peppy's head drops low, and after a moment or two, he rubs the top part of his muzzle against the bottom of Briska's, growling to his sleeping form some comforting statement that neither Aurora nor the puppies would be able to hear. If Aurora hasn't spoken by this time, he'll snap back up to attention, woofing a soft, <I mean, I'd do anything to make sure he's okay...>

Aurora once again nods to her mate - he's doing very well today with this thinking business - and is about to comment when he asks his question about the Potions, which causes her to stop and think for a little while. After some thought, she replies quietly, <It might hurt a little bit, but... don't you think he'd rather have it hurt for a short time than for a long time? I know I would...> She glances at Briska, who's once again whimpering in his restless sleep, and then at Flame and the other concerned puppies. <Besides, some things that are good can cause a little pain. Like when the puppies were born, that hurt, but if it hadn't happened they wouldn't be here now, learning how to play and grow...>

Saving the data is only the beginning... (Saving!)

Two days of thinking about nothing but Briska's condition has given Peppy lots of time to sort out his mind and ponder solutions. Maybe all that pacing was good for something. Unfortunately, his enlightened state of mind doesn't last long, and when Aurora mentions giving birth hurting, Peppy can only look at her kind of funny for a second. Maybe she means it hurt to wake up in the middle of the night when they cried? Or maybe she means it hurt because they were scared the puppies wouldn't turn out okay? Or maybe sh... ohhh. Right, the pain she felt and he didn't. He blushes to himself behind his fur, turning away shyly, thinking to himself about how lucky he was to be on the paternal side. As he looks away, however, his eyes once more lock onto Briska, and it reorients his thoughts back onto the topic at all. <... You're right, though,> he admits to her, nodding slowly. <I mean, he's... or somebody, one of the puppies... I mean, they might get hurt a little. It... well, might, uh, prepare him for it.> He kinds of shrugs his shoulders as best as he can, hesitant about suggesting anything good could come of this.

<That's a good idea,> Aurora replies, looking a little more hopeful than before. <I hope that now, he knows when it's good to run away, like when he's faced by someone bigger than him...> She sighs a little, her eyes flicking over to Briska, and she adds, <I'm not sure if he understands that, though. I'm not really sure what he understands. I wish he'd backed down, but hopefully he's learnt something from this anyway. Maybe he'll learn how much pain he can tolerate, so if he's injured while hunting he can get back to his den before collapsing, or...> She looks at the ground, a half-smile on her face. <I don't suppose I'm making much sense.>

And whether it was Aurora's intention or not, Peppy's slowly healing mood just plummets once more, and he exhales, piling another layer of stress onto the top of the bin labeled "in". With heavy eyes, he looks down at his son, watching him for a moment, before turning his head to the door. He stays in this position for a few moments, simply watching the door, still, quiet. Without warning, he bares his teeth at it, snarling, growling loudly. <It's not even his fault!> he barks angrily, spinning back to Aurora. The mellow, optimistic Peppy is gone. Though Aurora might misunderstand him, hopefully she knows him well enough to comprehend that he's not mad at her, but at something else. <I told him to pounce, and he just wanted to make me proud. He wanted to prove he could hunt, and wanted me to be happy that he could hold his own in his fight, that he could really do as well as an adult could, to prove that he's ready to go. It's not his fault, it's mine.> By now, Peppy's feeling pretty aggressive, and his tail stiffens with the newfound excitement pumping in his chest. He glares at the wall, still angry, thankfully not turning his gaze to Briska; that would probably set him off again.

Even though she does understand what's made Peppy so angry, and that it presumably isn't her, Aurora still takes a quick step back from her angry mate, followed by a slower one that she doesn't quite finish - she lifts a hind paw, moves it back... then waits a few seconds, paw in air, before putting it back down on the ground. <It's okay, Peppy,> she says to him, quietly, moving forwards a half-step. <Briska will learn from this, you'll learn... all of us have learnt from this. But it's happened now, and there's no use in worrying about what went wrong or who should take the blame. Let's look for a way to help Briska, and help him out like that.> While she's been speaking, Aurora has been walking forward slowly, a sympathetic expression on her face, and now her muzzle is close enough to Peppy's that they're almost touching. Unless Peppy moves his muzzle away from hers, she'll lean forward to nuzzle him lightly and comfortingly, murmuring, <We can work it out, I promise.>

Saving the data is only the beginning... (Saving!)

Peppy has never been very good and resisting Aurora's voice when he's sad or angry, and this is no exception. As hard as he actually tries to stay aggressive, intent on making sure he knows he is responsible for this entire catastrophe, he feels his jaw relax, and his teeth don't clench so tightly anymore. And sure enough, she's right. Blaming himself won't do anything, since he knows he won't do it again. What's important is that they want to help Briska. Maybe some good will come of this. Letting his head drop a bit, Peppy idly wonders how in the heck Aurora can always tranquilize him so quickly and so effectively. He doesn't get to even bother thinking up a reason; by the time even this thought goes through, his mind directs itself on a fuzzy feeling right on the bottom of his muzzle. He blinks once, twice, and shifts his eyes to the side, only to lock them onto Aurora's. The second smile of the day forms on his face, and this one is more gentle, more heartfelt, more alive. And he nuzzles right back into her, squeezing his eyes shut, grateful to have her there to guide him right. And he'll whisper to her about how she's right, how he'll look for a potion tomorrow, no, today, no, now, but he won't actually move. Not yet, at least - for right this moment, at least, he's just content to love her.