Pokémon - A Thousand Year Life

Destined to Die

The first thing I remember is the feel of my mother's warmth and the heat of five tiny bodies pressed against mine. It was such a comforting thing, being wrapped in a blanket of so many small, intertwining lives, neither of us strong enough to walk or even see, but safe nonetheless.

By our second week of life, I could hear the yips and cries of my brothers and sisters as we grew fat from suckling, constantly nudging and jostling each other in clumsy brawls for the right to claim our mother's milk. Even though I could not yet see, I knew I was smaller than the others; weaker; more fragile. On many occasions I would lay and wait, biding my time until the gentle sounds of snoring filled the air before I could crawl on my belly to a long-overdue meal.

I was always the last to feed.

By our third week our legs had grown strong enough to walk on, although we weren't very good at it yet. I could see the walls of our den, the glistening red coats of my siblings, and the elegant form of our mother as she slipped between us. She was far larger than any of our tiny bodies, her fur sleek and pale. Unlike ours, her eyes were narrow and as red as the embers that occasionally billowed from her mouth. Our father wasn't so different in statue, though his voice sounded deeper, his howls that much louder as he sang to the moon outside our nest site. There was a strange connection that existed between us; stronger than he had with any of the other pups, despite the fact that he spread his affection between us equally. At times when I was too weak to push my way in join the others in play or challenge them for a feeding spot, he would nuzzle beside me and we would wait together, never once speaking but saying more than words could ever describe.

That bond ended abruptly on the third day of the sixth week. It was the day I thought fate would end my life.

"What are we waiting for?" I asked my mother, as we sat on the ridge of a tall hill overlooking the valley below. The rest of the pack surrounded us, their solemn gazes intently fixed on the inky, moonlight sky.

She grinned and sighed softly. "I've told you already. Tonight is very special."

"But why?" piped Koda, the largest of my brothers, coughing a small burst of flame into the air.

"Because a day like today comes around only once every thousand years. It is the night Jirachi, the wish-maker, awakens from his long slumber to grant the world but a single wish before his hibernation begins again seven days from now. The last time he awoke, my own mother stood in this very spot as you do now."

We all stopped and looked down at our paws in amazement, lapping up the scents of the earth were our ancestors once strayed. Silently, I felt a pang of sorrow. Unlike the others of our pack, my fur was not the colour of fire, nor my eyes as brown as mountain stone. Instead my coat held a strange, golden hue, like the rays of the hot midday sun or the loose sand packed around our den. When I had first emerged from the sanctuary of the burrow, the other adults did not look at me in the way they looked at my siblings. I was small, vulnerable; different.

In a pack built on the strength of each member, I wondered how I might find my place. In a way, the answer still scares me.

"Esarosa, are you alright?" squeaked a small voice as Mia crept up and pounced on me from behind, pinning me to the ground with a playful bark. I nodded and grabbed her ear between my jaws, gently tugging her aside. She responded by biting the tip of my nose, making me sneeze.

We were so busy playing that neither of us noticed the sudden hush in the air, or the sound of footsteps sneaking up on us through the trees. It was only until our father sprang to his feet and growled did we realise that something was terribly, horribly wrong.