It had all started like this: I had gone away from camp in order to get some training done. I wanted to teach my Heatran how to use Magma Storm, and burning down the forest seemed a radically unsafe plan. It was somewhere between when I had left earshot of the camp and before I reached the lake that I noticed I was being followed. Suspecting I had attracted the attention of a friendly Gothorita or something of the ilk, I turned around to find nothing. I had always thought I was a relatively savvy trainer, and that I was able to take care of myself. I was proven wrong when a shadow pounced from out of sight, driving me to the forest floor with a soft thump. A nearby Trevenant scuttled away from the commotion.

I had been pounced on by a Zoroark. The fox-bear stood over me, holding my neck to the ground with an outstretched claw. The meaning of its actions needed no words: “Move, and you die”. I racked my brain to find an explanation for this attack. Had I stumbled on its den by mistake? Were we camping in Zoroark territory, and I had just drawn the short straw? The fox answered for me, pulling the rest of its body on top of me.

“Hey there, stranger.” Its voice was smooth like honey, and its lips tasted like sweet berries and metallic blood, and that’s how it all started. Or was it how it all ended? Perhaps things will become clearer if I start from the very beginning.