End of Innocence

[Eidolon]

Trudging silently through the mountains, everything seemed dark, gloomy and grey. It was night, and the stars were hidden by great black storm clouds that just seemed to hover there, like they were just there for display. The mountains and the path underfoot were slate grey as well, the few withered trees Flint passed withered and black. Looking around, it was as if the whole world had lost its color.

Turning the corner around a mountain ridge, Flint gasped as he found himself looking up at a colossal (again, it was grey) structure of stone. His mouth hanging open as he gazed up at the massive fortress, he took a ginger step forward, wondering what on earth it could be. His gaze moving down, he stared into a long tunnel topped with a portcullis, the spikes hanging down from the ceiling like teeth. Gripped by a macabre fascination as to what was inside, Flint began to step into the tunnel, stepping just past the range of the portcullis before cupping his paws and calling out; "Hello? Anyone there?" His voice echoing all the way to the end.

[Éclair]

Where had the wind and her paws taken her this time? Only Arceus knew, for it seemed forever ago when she had last bereaved the demise of her darling. She felt the strain and the tickle of blood on her paws. Though her claws were still cut and sore, they did not bleed as much as they had and that—she supposed—was something to be grateful of.

The night was a blanket, a shroud across her snow white pelt. And when she made even the most insignificant movement in the muted nightfall, it seemed to shift the shadows beneath her paws. Darkness was such a beauty to the beholder, but misjudged by the common individual for a time when danger and evil lurked around every corner. But every Pokémon slept soundly at this time, so solitude was forever about and there was little noise to send her into anxiety and a frigid tense of fear. Her vacant red eyes scanned across the land before her, the baleful thicket of the inner-forest grasping against her pelt and tugging at her, snaring in her fur, as if wishing for her to keep her forever in its obsessive grasp. And such was a thing it deserved to do without end, to any Pokémon who dared enter the forestation with little or no hope. Hope, after all, was one of the principal springs that kept Pokémon-kind in motion.

But hope was for those who believed. What did Wendan have to believe in now? Her beloved: dead. Her siblings: dead, lost or insane. Her life: in ruin. How was there anything in this world that she could believe in now that her life was left in ruin, like a decrepit old castle in dire need of repair; bordering on the edge of a river, each moment passing while a piece of it gets whittled down even more.

Up until now, life had really held no surprises for ongoing Wendan; and as far as she was concerned, this wasn’t one of them. Her whole deplorable existence seemed to be mocking her with this scene, a reflection of her own years and times of yore. This castle, probably once majestic and accommodating to those who resided in its grandiose depths, mocked her with its ambivalence. On its last legs of merit, it still stood, perpetual in its unspoken vigilance over the forest. Her eyes carefully ran along the battlements, the square "sawtooth" merlons and collapsing embrasures of the crenellation fringing the embankments like fossilized spines, topping the high-raised curtain walls. She had to admit, her curiosity outweighed her aversion (with how the characteristics of her life paralleled its decrepit outer shell.) Long had she wondered, was there a way in? Wendan longed to explore its shrouded depths and gloom, its secret halls and doorways. See how many more resemblances she could unearth that she and this incongruity shared.

She had checked for a postern gate; though she’d been carefully circling the fortification for the past few minutes, from a prefatory distance she’d seen no secondary entrance, and doubted there was any. She’d considered scaling the wall, measured it, thought against it. Once or twice, she’d made mock charges in its direction, testing to see if anything would spring out at her. Nothing ever came, though. The Fortress remained quiet.

Wendan stumbled a little, tripping on a vine tangled across her path, catching herself awkwardly on her forepaws as sharp rocks seemingly rose up with the earth and struck at her palms. Her long, hooked claws shot down into the earth at the particularly unpleasant wince of pain that lanced up her arms. The Zangoose grit her dagger-like teeth fiercely, raking her talons over the leaves that hadn’t bothered cushioning her fall. She hated being out here, hiding from what she desired.

You going or not, scaredy-cat?

As she was rapidly listing the pros and cons of her paths mentally, a voice broke through her thoughts like a dagger through flesh and her concentration was shattered into fragmented plates of glass. She twisted her head towards the voice, and almost jumped back, ears flat across the round base of her skull and docking her head towards the obscurity of the sight before her.

The voice’s owner stood, identity masked by nightfall, a lost soul in the gaping mouth of a hell-beast. She hadn't noticed it before, for her gaze had been trained bitterly on her footwork. And she certainly had never seen anything like it, or had her own taste of true architecture in its most exploitable state prior to this discovery. Heavy shadows cast upon the outer extension of the fortress’ gateway cast pits of darkness over its gruesome façade, the crags in the ashlar appearing like windswept eyes mourning cascades of inky blackness in the dark. The structural design perplexed Wendan, as she thought it to have only been a wall up until now. Just a wall, forever casting secrecy upon this land and curiosity in the minds of those who gazed upon it, wondering what it contained behind its formidable walls. It had an opening; she could go behind those walls now.

The stranger stood smack-dab in the middle of the archway’s clear span. The riolu—evident by his distinctive looks, even in the dimly lit space of the entry with his tail turned to her—seemed careless as how severe the consequence of his actions could be with his proximity to the Fortress. He was standing a little past the tooth-like extremities of the iron-shod grille suspended in front of a gateway, close to being swallowed up by the mystery lurking within. Astonishment made the smallish Zangoose rise to her wearied feet, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as a dumbfound fish on a hooked line. Pure admiration was what made her hobble forward, graceless through the underbrush, awed by the valor of this unfamiliar being. Longing, maybe to join him in the gateway of the unknown, was what made her call out.

“You! You, what are you doing over there?” Wendan hollered out, not bothering to control the volume of her voice, as he was quite a distance away from where she stood. The relatively constant pitch of her heavy, husky tone resonated a little higher than it normally did, and it might have sounded like her voice was cracking, due to the urgency of her beckon. She had to know why he was here. She absolutely had to.

[Eidolon]

As he waited with baited breath for an answer, his eyes staring into the endless darkness, Flint felt his fur stand on end as a chill ran through him. Fear... anticipation... excitement, he didn't know what to feel as he stared into the mouth of the beast, into the deep darkness. His curiosity wearing away at his fear, he carefully lifted his left paw and brought it forwards, waiting tensely for a few seconds before doing the same with the right. Having moved a full two steps closer to oblivion, Flint stopped and took in a deep breath oxygen, trying to relax and quiet his pounding heart, which was pumping with such intensity it was as if it was trying to break free of his ribcage.

Assuring himself that no great doom or punishment had befallen him as a result of taking two meager steps towards the Fortress, Flint sucked in another deep breath. His heart slowing down to normal. Having somewhat overcome his fear, his curiosity surged stronger than ever as he pondered the source of his concerns. What was it? Was it fear of the unknown? Fear of death or pain or loneliness? Or perhaps the worst fear of all... fear that he would find nothing at all beyond the castle's intimidating facade. Fear that he would end the day lost and alone, as he had been for the past 7 months of his life.

"You! You, what are you doing over there?" That made him jump. His body rigid as his fur stood on end and his muscles tensed, Flint turned his head around to look behind him faster than a weathercock during a hurricane, his eyes widened and his footpaws gripping the ground, ready to spring should he have to make an escape. Spotting a kind of pokemon he had never seen before, a bipedal creature with pearly-silver fur and curved white claws protruding from it's forepaws, topped off with a flowing tail decorated with a collection of pink feathers around the base. Standing there with his mouth open, Flint was both dazzled and intimidated by the creature's appearance, but quickly snapped his mouth shut.

This was in fact the first time any pokemon had ever taken the time to speak to him, short of a brief howl or a snarl prior to an attack. He didn't know who this pokemon was, but she had for whatever reason opted to speak to him rather than attack him. And he didn't want to blow what might be his only chance at escaping the loneliness that had plagued him since birth. "I-I... well... I'm called... uh..." Flint quickly closed his mouth before any more nonsense could flow out. Taking in a deep breath and starting again. "I-I'm called Flint... and, I don't have a mother." He told the complete stranger, suddenly feeling a lot better even though all he'd done was tell someone else his problems. "I'm looking for her... but I don't know what she looks like. I found this place, but I don't know what's inside. So... she might be in there, I'm going to look." Finishing, Flint blushed a little underneath his fur and watched the mysterious pokemon curiously, wondering what she would say next... if she didn't already think of him as some disgusting little rodent like his mother did.

[Éclair]

He’s just a kid. Wendan could see it plain to feel remorseful for his ill-begotten situation, for the young Riolu, Flint—she thinks she heard him right when he called what she believed to be his name—who claimed what he was looking for was his mother. Obviously, this child was too trusting of strangers, to readily hand out his name. Or perhaps, he had some unfathomable astuteness lying behind those wide innocent eyes of his: accentuated prominently by amber rings that permeated the fading murkiness around him with a hazy yellow glow. She admired his eccentric markings for a second, trying to put a finger on where’d she seen them before, most likely on another Pokémon. He was a hybrid then, as she? Not that that was something to be all overjoyed about, she felt the slightest intuition of being connected with Flint. Who knows, maybe he’d believe her better not to rush headlong at him and attack because of that minor similarity (though her appearance suggested otherwise, much to her irritation, as it was a little intimidating to some). From far off, he appeared a friendly light.

Not so yet coming right up to him, but trying to get close enough to talk a little lower than she had been, she stalked forward a little, on all fours. She relaxed her generally tense posture for once, not at all distrustful in her approach: to make an effort of camouflaging her predatory tendencies that made her out to be portentously scheming and surreptitious to prey. But, that plan was a little sneaky itself, wasn’t it? Smiling in this case was a big no-no, too. Let’s not flash those pearly-whites at the poor little guy until we’ve at least garnered some of his trust. She never saw a reason to smile anyway. Her voluptuous tail simply swaggered side to side behind her, undulating mesmerizingly from tail-tip to bottom as the pinkish feathers withdrew to a leisurely carriage, conveying no menace or crave for conflict.

“You’re name’s Flint,” she queried coolly, more of a confirming statement than a question. Whether he had just gone ahead and admitted his name, or had given her an alias, Flint it was, for now. Wendan had drawn near enough to where, in the case she had felt an odd desire to do it, she could spring forward her own height in length and tap him on the nose with the tip of an extended claw. Meaning she was already standing right there at the entryway of the Fortress. The Zangoose swallowed a little, watched as the intrados slipped overhead and blocked moonlight, and stopped there, turned her gaze steadily on the riolu, arms hanging loosely at her sides with claws somewhat retracted. She was actually trying not to give him the impression that she was approaching in hopes of achieving a good distance from which pounce, but her anticipation of her goal made it hard to keep the fur along her nape from bristling. “Flint, you. . . you said you’re looking for your, your mother?” Wendan put heavy emphasis on that last word, as if he had proposed a weighty matter. It was as if she was trying to ask, You realize what you’re saying, right? I don’t know you, but you’re positive you’re looking for the right thing?

How did he not know what his own mom looked like, anyway? Wendan could delve on a few possibilities that might have led to his current circumstances, but she curtly set the questioning aside for later. “If it’d be fine with you, then, I’d be glad to help and go with you in there. I’m looking around for something, too” she said, offering a wan little lowercase-w of a smile that appeared strained on her cat-like features; she managed no teeth. He said he was going in; so did she (she decided now). The riolu’s hardship was not for her to lament, but his goal was similar in some respects to hers. They were both searching, simply searching. She’d help him if he’d allow her, only since it would help her accomplish what she yearned for. If he wanted to leave—the Zangoose determined then—she’d accompany him to the exit; for whatever reason things could go wrong if they were to be touring the Fortress together, leaving him behind would suggest she were callous. She still felt sypathy, for some.

“Always good to have some company. I know, I’d appreciate if someone came up to me and asked to go along. It looks a little scary in there, too.” Her lucent gaze, a pale hue of red that contrasted her glistening snow-white fur nicely, diffused a faint air of kindliness—a thread that had hardly dared to strand itself into the torn tapestry of her irises in some few months. She gave a flick of her poignant ears, a gesture of attentiveness. “I’m Wendan, just so you know.”
[/color]

[Eidolon]

Forcing himself to take in slow deep breaths unlike the quick shallow ones his pounding heart seemed to demand, Flint watched with anticipation as the mysterious pokemon with the fur that shone like the moon came towards him on all fours. It was strange, though not in a bad way, Flint found himself drawn to the mysterious pokemon. Connected by some bond of which he had no idea. His eyes half-closing as he concentrated, the two aura-sensitive organs on the side of his head wobbled promisingly without his knowledge, rising up slightly as if moved by an unseen force.

Before his eyes, a faint golden glow seemed to surround - no, emanate from the pokemon coming towards him. His eyes widening at the amazing sight and the aura sensors growing limp as his concentration faded, the golden glow vanishing along with his focus. His mouth hanging open in awe, Flint took a step towards her, walking as if mesmerized by some spell away from the dark tunnel, crossing the line of cuts in the ground that indicated the range of the fortress' portcullis. Stopping as she stopped, a cloud parted to let a thin ray of moonlight illuminate the area, the topaz markings of an Umbreon appearing more distinctively around his eyes.

"You're name's Flint," The apparition spoke, leaving Flint unsure as to the nature of the statement. In case it had been a question, he gave a clear nod of his head. Flint, that was what he called himself. Purely because he liked the sound of the word. "Flint, you... you said you're looking for your, your mother?" That was definitely a question. And it sent a shiver down the young Riolu's spine. It was doubting, as if what he had proposed was in some way foolish or wrong. Of course, how would he know if his plan was such a thing? He was obviously unwanted, an inconvenience. Wouldn't it make sense for him to be foolish and naive too?

 Staring down at his foot paws, his arms hanging limply by his sides, his brow creased with sadness. It came as a shock when next she said; "If it'd be fine with you, then, I'd be glad to help and go with you in there. I'm looking around for something, too." His heart leapt when he heard that. Looking up at her with wide-eyed amazement, he felt a surge of joy rush through him from the tip of his ears down to his toes - a warm bubbly sensation he'd never felt before. "Always good to have some company. I know, I'd appreciate it if someone came up to me and asked to go along. It looks a little scary in there, too." Vigorously he nodded his head in agreement, his eyes beginning to well up with emotion, gratitude that words could not express. "Th-th-thank you..."

"I'm Wendan, just so you know."

"... Wendan!"

[Éclair]

It would be impractical to not perceive the feeling emanating from the Riolu’s young eyes—heh, humorously enough, it was the Emanation Pokémon, wasn’t it?—, and Wendan could tell he was appreciative of her lousy company (at least, it’s how rewarding she considered her companionship to be). But even the least of companionships was as good as any. She couldn’t help but accede to the strong sentiment of empathy that strummed away at her hard-bitten heartstrings, in plaintive respect of the emotion: a gratefulness one could not simply express to the likes of a mere stranger. She’d have embraced the little guy, given him a hearty clap on the back, if the gesture wouldn’t have seemed too odd at the time. Come on, how many times in a Pokémon's life is it hugged by a red-eyed, silver cat with razor-like claws and teeth as white and sharp as alabaster daggers?

The Zangoose gave a pithy inclination of her head instead, as a way of expressing her heartfelt approval, roughly commending him in his decision. Her long tapered ears bobbed forward at the movement. If not, she felt somewhat flattered by the mentioning of her name aloud: a sweet peal of recognition to her long-aching ears, as it was not one she encountered frequently on her expeditions over Pokéarth. Her gratitude played noticeably at her feline features, her tail giving a tickled rustle, the pale pinkish feathers splaying rigidly in their own eccentric way and sticking out at odd angles. She smiled a little broader, a slight, curled canine dimpling her lower lip. Cute kid.

“No prob, Flint. Sincerely delighted to lend a hand or two,” said Wendan, the saccharine lilt of her regional accent rolling off her tongue in a manifest purr, in tandem to the low, guttural thrum reverberating at the back of her throat, semi-parched from travel. The Zangoose gave a demonstrative brandish of one of her heavy double-taloned paws, tinny moonlight refracting off the honed edges and slicking theirs cold surfaces with steel, contours of metallic luster bringing a dangerous light to their formidable dimensions. It was sort of a “I got your back covered.” beau geste of sorts, for the imminent journey, or maybe her own body was working out her agitated nerves with the reassuring visual communication. Although she wasn’t much a formidable fighter, she would fight, if it meant to protect Flint.

Wendan had been relieved the youngster hadn’t run off at her approach in the first place, filling her with a sort of circumspect resolution that sent coils of figurative electricity shimmering up the hairs of her pelt, making her coat ripple and rise. Her satisfaction with the state of affairs made her all the more raring to go on—more than ever now that she had the young cohort at her side—, to assume a sort of provisional custody over Flint and preserve that obligation duly, and to spring headfirst into the shrouded conduit of shadows and obscurity that lied so well within their reach now.
[/size]

[Eidolon]

His ears pricking up in response to Wendan's comment - how good it felt to know someone's name! Flint's mouth shifted into an exact mimic of the smile on Wendan's face, a gesture brought on by the new feelings the Zangoose had stirred within him. Taking a bold step forwards, Flint soon found himself walking towards Wendan, still smiling from the edge of one aura sensor to the other. For the first time in his lonely, miserable existence, he didn't feel alone. He had someone, a friend to turn to. Someone to heal the scars left by his mother.

Though she was intimidating in appearance, Flint no longer feared her. Perhaps it would seem unwise, trusting a potentially dangerous pokemon only shortly after a chance encounter. However, one fleeting glimpse of Wendan's aura had been all that was needed to win Flint's trust. She was a silver light in a monochrome world often filled with shadows, and she had accepted him for something other than food or refuse. Drawing in close to her, close enough to touch, Flint smiled up at her and reached out, touching the black pads of her paw with the soft pink pads of his own in an affectionate gesture.

Holding her paw like it was a lifeline, Flint shifted his gaze from Wendan back over to the cavernous blackness of the entrance tunnel. Gone was his fear, but also his concern for what lay within. Wendan was a discovery far greater than any he had expected to make, just the thing he had been searching for in the first place. His path now would rather be determined by her than by the search for his mother. "Wendan," Flint began, addressing her by name. "Do you want to go inside?" He asked in an impartial tone of voice, leaving the decision up to her as a child would leave to a parent, awaiting her guidance with anticipation and wonder.

[Éclair]

((OOC; Do pardon the length. . . ^^; Was in the mood fer a bit of indulgenct description and whatnot. . .))


Had it taken place in the beginning of their acquaintance, the gesture, which orchestrated profoundly symphonies of sentiments in the Zangoose’s haggling thoughts - emanated the reliance and guilelessness of a mere child - would have been all Wendan needed to trust young Flint. Had he been an assassin, she would be unsuspecting of the knife that lied in wait for her flesh. Wendan felt immediate warmth tingle through her, like an endorphin rush in her brain, and she found herself processing even the minutest of details within the gentle contact. How soft his pawpads were, that is, in comparison to the tough, black-skinned ones she bore: travel-worn and callused so they felt like clay in a riverbed, dried and cracked in the mid-afternoon heat of the sun. How frail his hold seemed, and she was afraid she would cause her young cohort harm if she gripped his paw too tight. She found that likelihood unlikely, and she gave a confirmatory squeeze to show she appreciated the gesture: more than one would ever think.

For once, the Zangoose hybrid felt like the mother she was once intended to be. It would be impractical for anyone not to anticipate that which is imminently expected of a young mated couple: she had, indeed, conceived life between her and her darling, the month prior to the horrible fate that had befallen her beloved Averroes.

Her lover’s star-crossed offspring had slept soundly, like unborn embodiments of his departed life that had been born of her reminiscence of him: refugees of his tragic destruction that had sought helpless sanctuary in her body for two long winter months following that fateful day of autumn. But with the demise of Wendan’s mate came finally knowledge of their existence, of what could have been succor for the widowed female’s miserly heartache and loneliness. Which, in stead, turned into more sadness for her to bear. Her bereavement for her mate had made her ignorant, and had dismissed the signs, allowed her remorse to take what had been left of him with her unaware. Her latent young had the suffered the quiet price of their mother‘s despair: having been born at an untimely eve four months before their naturally portended arrival - she‘d been too weak, made too sickly to further provide nourishment for them. Wendan had cried when she had understood their strange emergence that one night, the fabrication behind their unforeseen birth, and realized her carelessness had been the cause of their loss, her decision to not carry on with her life and live, as Averroes would have wished her to, bringing back to her guilts of her childhood that had ceased when she had met him.

The toll for her actions had been a black weight on her heart, one that had long kept her thoughts submerged in the murk and quagmire of her own anguished regrets and sorrows. She hadn’t seen a need to wallow out of that pit of reclusion and woe. Regrettably, she loathed the fact that she had allowed it to happen, persisted to allow herself to sit there at the bottom: waiting to drown, but still holding the oxygen in her lungs from her last intake from the surface. It was a loss of hope that kept here there, careless to the pain and the darkness that awaited her, still wondering if the light above the water was still up there.

But a sadness in someone, as most believe, is eventually worn away by a life that continues, and does not remain intact forever: as does a fraying thread not mend or hold itself long before being reduced to a single string of remorse retained simply by a remembrance. She didn’t doubt the conviction: she noticed, smiling came easier to her now, and she could find enjoyment in the little things she used to love without grieving too much over the reality that Averroes wasn‘t there to enjoy them with her.

The string might sever one day for Wendan, and her soul be lifted from the bitter weight that kept her immersed, blind and isolated to what was above the surface of her sorrow. And now, more than ever, she felt rejuvenated, acknowledging the strength to give it a chance and relinquish that tie.

Who knew, Flint might be someone who would help accomplish that goal of her still-mourning thoughts, a helping hand in her troubles. Within that small gesture, that earnest contact, he had filled a spot she thought never would be filled in her lifetime. She hardly knew this young Pokemon, but such time had it been since she had lingered in one’s company, she determined she was probably exaggerating her own feelings a little bit, even if it seemed like she had known him for what felt an eternity.

But still, it was a tremendous happiness, a relief and a treasure, to adhere to the sentiment that welled up inside her. Wendan wondered briefly, if times had been more favorable and she had given birth to her young: would this have been what it felt like? For once in a long while, she felt the corners of her mouth tug up in an incredulous smile that shadowed her strained smirk, even as Averroes entered her mind.

The Zangoose, clutching Flint’s paw firmly in her own, gave several short, energetic nods of her head: replying to his earlier inquiry. She was nervous still, and one could tell by her rapid fashion of responding. “Yeah,,” she said, and she felt herself chill at how even her tone sounded. Her emotions had apparently altered how she‘d normally handle a situation: she’d never felt so calm before. Her tail gave a thoughtful twirl at how bizarre it all seemed now, but dismissing the sensation, she took a small, anticipating step forward, not tugging on Flint‘s arm but still maintaining her hold as her gaze came to focus on the eerie structure looming ahead of them like a massive monster waiting to swallow them up.

She swallowed, with some difficulty. “Do, you have any idea about what‘s in here?” asked Wendan softly, turning her head to cast the riolu a curious look. Her eyes glinted lucidly in the moonlight, and she may have seemed somewhat unsettled. The Fortress had renewed her trepidation just by a single glance, and she tried to regain that calmness from before by directing her attention back to Flint.

[Eidolon]

Shuddering with delight as Wendan squeezed his paw, Flint smiled up at the Zangoose, a single canine showing past his lip, moving in closer to her guided like a moth towards a flame; wrapping his other paw around her body and giving her the largest hug he could manage. Burying his nose into her pelt, he felt warm, safe, secure. Like he belonged, for the first time in his life. Pulling back from the embrace, Flint looked up into Wendan's smiling face, a light that had not been there before visible somewhere within the crimson shadows of his eyes. Adoration, hope, trust, love. Emotions that had been withheld, kept locked away with no way to escape for so long, all of them had broken free of their restraints and were now surging to the surface; filling Flint with an exquisite warmth the likes of which he'd never known.

Subconsciously taking in Wendan's every feature, the way she stood, how her tail moved, Flint adjusted his stance to match without realizing it, his blue tail bobbing along and twirling in synergy with hers. "Yeah," she said with several nods of her head, taking a step forward, Flint trotting over to her side and taking up his place next to her, still clutching her hand. "Do you have any idea what's in here?" She then asked him, casting him a glance... something about the way she said it making Flint wonder if everything was alright, looking up at her with concern.

Very slowly, he shook his head, the yellow rings around his eyes glinting softly in the moonlight. "No," he said softly, trying to pronounce it like Wendan did, pulling off a reasonable impression of her accent. "this is the first time I've ever been out this far." He told her truthfully, managing to make his "I's" sound a little like Wendan's but not the rest of the words; he'd need more than a 5-minute meeting for that. "Before now I used to hang around the ruins. I've lived there most of my life..." Flint confessed, losing Wendan's accent a bit as his voice began to crack up at the memory; of those cold dark buildings that had long since lost their life. The isolation among those grey, repetitive husks, no-one to snuggle up to on those nights when the wind was chilly...

Flint's nose let out a snuffle, a sniff of sadness as he remembered his life there... which had bordered on the unbearable. The life he had known since birth. Sniffing once more, he held Wendan's paw tighter and clenched his jaw. Things were different now; he thought to himself with a smile. He had Wendan now, he wasn't alone like back then. Moving his gaze, which had lowered down to Wendan's footpaws, back up to her face, Flint flashed her a thankful smile, staring into her eyes with a look of relief. "Wendan," He asked, a butterfree of excitement flitting around inside his chest as he worked himself up to ask the question; "Can... can I stay with you? ...even after this?" Flint blurted out as he would burst if he didn't say it, staring up at Wendan pleadingly with the eyes of a puppy, highlighted around the edges by his Umbreonic rings. "Please?" He begged, standing up on his tip-toes and leaning towards her, hugging her around her waist and maintaining eye-contact with her, his heart beating wildly as he waited for her answer.