In the North Mountain, Ethan was still heading deeper into the range. Today's main training plan was to give Houndour real combat time—not just to build experience, but to rebuild its confidence.
There were no trails here; villagers almost never came this far.
Brush rose to his waist, and the pines were thick—trunks half a meter across, canopies so broad they swallowed the light. Anything could be hiding out there, so Ethan and Houndour stayed on high alert.
When the brush got too dense to pass, Ethan pulled a sickle from his pack and cut a path for Houndour.
Sure, Houndour could have cleared everything with a quick Ember, but Ethan wouldn't risk a forest fire. Get caught, and it's jail time. And who knew when Lincoln might pop out of the ground again and slap cuffs on him?
After more than two hours of hiking, they'd encountered plenty of wild Pokémon, but most traded a couple of quick blows and fled. Mountain Pokémon were crafty. With Ethan in tow, Houndour couldn't chase hard, and a few skirmishes ended frustratingly.
The slope eased, the trees thinned, and sunlight finally lanced through the needles. Ethan checked his phone's GPS. Only a few miles until they were out of the North Mountain.
A shrill, cutting "kree! kree! kree!" ripped the air.
A flock of Spearow swept in and settled in the surrounding branches, eyes hard on the intruders.
Wind kicked up, whipping the pines. Needles peppered Ethan's face until he yanked his pack up to shield himself.
"Lubi!"
Houndour stepped in front of him, hackles high, staring down the descending shadow.
The cry came again—like a coronation—and the wind died. A massive bird perched high.
Ethan's gut went cold. Fearow. Spearow don't evolve until around level 20. A Fearow meant this flock had a king.
If it wanted trouble, Houndour wouldn't stand a chance. One well-placed Peck at their levels could be fatal.
"Easy, Houndour."
He kept a hand on Houndour's ruff—no sudden moves.
Fearow flicked them a flat glance and closed its eyes to rest. The Spearow kept a wary eye on them, warning delivered, but didn't strike.
"Let's go," Ethan murmured.
They gave the Fearow's pine a wide berth and detoured.
Houndour kept looking back. It knew it couldn't beat them now—but it didn't accept that as permanent.
"You're still young," Ethan said. "We've got room to grow. Give it a few months—we'll make them look up to us."
"Lubi."The quick tail wag said it all.
"Good fighting spirit," Ethan smiled.
"Ao—" Houndour drawled, playing along.
Behind them, the flock settled again. Odd—Spearow aren't migratory. What had pushed a flock—led by a level-high Fearow—out of its territory?
On the trail, Ethan checked readings from his scanner bracelet. From this distance, he only got rough levels: the Spearow averaged above 10; the Fearow read 23. (For movesets he'd need a close scan within a meter, or scan a Poké Ball—like how he'd missed Stealth Rock on Aron with Lincoln.)
If something deeper in the range had spooked a level-23 Fearow, barging in with a sub-10 Houndour was asking for a memorial.
He chose caution: set camp just beyond the woods, then range out for safe sparring partners.
They stepped from shade into a broad valley—short, dense grass like a green carpet, a river curling through it like a jade ribbon.
"Ao!"
Houndour's voice danced with joy.
"We'll base here for two days," Ethan said.
"Ao-ao!"
He picked a higher shelf against the rock wall where the grass was thin, dug a shallow niche just big enough for the tent, and had Houndour dry the hollow with a careful Ember. The tent slid inside, and he braced the opening with thick branches so a curious wild wouldn't shred it.
Lunch was simple: Ethan ate packed rations. Houndour got a bowl of nutrient pellets.
From their earlier overlook, he'd spotted a patch of Oddish, some Rattata, and a few skittish Pidgey—probably recently harassed by the Spearow. Across the river, an old tree hung with Kakuna—hard pass on that side. He'd also seen a few lone Ninetales come to water (which meant a group nearby), and now and then a Poliwag nosed along the current. Drifting lotus pads suggested lazy Lotad hitching a ride downstream.
"Houndour, perfect place for it—let's learn Hidden Power."
"Lubi! Lubi!"
Ethan recalled Houndour, tucked the ball into his Backpack, selected the Hidden Power disc, targeted Houndour, chose Grass, and confirmed.
The Poké Ball's light pulsed for about a minute, then the prompt flashed: Houndour learned Hidden Power (Grass).
"Houndour—Hidden Power, that stone."
Houndour flowed out, breathed, and drew green energy from the valley as if it had always known how. A verdant aura gathered, condensed into a tight sphere at its jaws, and shot forward. On impact, root-like energy laced through the boulder, cinching tight and leeching strength.
In seconds, the half-meter stone crumbled from the inside into neat fist-sized chunks.
Ethan grinned. Better than expected—the disc hadn't just taught the move; Houndour already showed competent control and solid power. Those 700 Ancient Energy points had been worth it.
He scribbled notes:
Proficiency: gather time still slow—should improve with reps/insight.
Casting variety: release is rigid; try hand-feints, fang taps, angled shots—don't only "spit" the orb.
Utility: test non-attack uses. Can Hidden Power tie into Pyromancer Flow (Ember/Fire Spin + Flash Fire control)?
Houndour kept experimenting—pulling, shaping, tossing—like it was learning to play with fire again, only greener. Ethan let curiosity coach.
All afternoon, orbs cracked rocks and rattled bushes, sending Oddish and Rattata scurrying. For a while, Houndour looked less like a dark fire-type and more like a grass-type prodigy trapped in the wrong body.
Power and speed improved, but Ethan still didn't love the straight-line trajectories; quick opponents could sidestep. This wasn't a game—outside of special setups, nothing has true 100% accuracy.
As dusk settled, Houndour wagged hard and stared up at him.
Houndour: Since we're camping… maybe no night run? River time?Ethan: Great energy, buddy. Ankle weights on—fifteen extra minutes tonight!
Houndour: (⊙x⊙;)
The weights clanged onto the gravel—suspiciously like a breaking heart.
They ran the river's edge. Floods had left a two-meter strip of rounded gravel on both banks—tough on pads and feet, but better than slogging grass.
Ethan kept feeling eyes on his back. He turned: Houndour jogged with a very polite smile.
(~ ̄▽ ̄)~ …which somehow didn't look sincere.
No—Houndour lived to get stronger. He had to be imagining it.
By the end, both limped a little. Not sprains—just sore pads and arches from the stones. Ethan misted healing spray over Houndour's paws and wrists; the relief was instant.
"Lubi! Lubi!" Houndour barked, big and brave again.
Ethan scrubbed the big head and pocketed the half-empty bottle. He'd been chewing through meds on these drills. Time to ration—his own feet could tough it out.
"Hot meal tonight."
He set up the tiny cook kit: five potatoes, three carrots, a bag of sliced beef, half a bag of rice, spices.
"Houndour—light it up. Curry rice."
"The flame's too high—pull some back."
Houndour: !!! ∑(￣Д￣ﾉ)ﾉ
"Now it's too low. We lighting a cigarette or cooking dinner?"
Houndour: ? (－_－;)
I'm not even eating your curry—I just want the meatballs. Why am I the chef!?
Life as a good dog is hard. Houndour was almost certain a single, dignified tear evaporated in the heat.