Orion slept.
Not half-slept, not dozed with one eye open, not the twitchy, reflex-driven kind of unconsciousness that came with camping in wild predator country.
He actually slept.
Flat on his back, arms over his head, dead to the world. For six glorious hours, nothing screamed. Nothing crackled. Nothing tried to eat him.
When he woke up, it was because the morning sun hit his face—not because something was chewing on it.
His first reaction was panic.
He sat bolt upright, heart hammering.
Then he realized nothing was wrong.
No sounds of a fight.
No ambush.
Tyrunt lay a few meters away, snoring softly.
Grotle was asleep with his head tucked under a root mound like a living rock.
And Shinx?
Shinx was curled directly against Orion's thigh, belly-up, paw twitching in what was either a dream or a static buildup event waiting to happen.
Orion blinked at him.
"You are a danger to yourself and others."
Shinx kicked the air and sneezed.
By midmorning, they were back on the trail.
It was one of those rare stretches where the terrain was neither trying to kill them nor laugh at their expense—just wide dirt, soft wind, and old moss-covered logs lining the path like a polite audience.
Orion figured it was the perfect time to focus on the weakest link in his team.
Not weakest in power.
Just... least trustworthy.
He looked down.
Shinx trotted along with his tongue hanging out, tail zigzagging like a broken antenna.
"I know you're a walking stun gun," Orion said. "But you act like a toddler with too much sugar and no concept of consequences."
Shinx chirped.
"Which is why today," Orion continued, pulling out a crumpled notepad, "we're going to see if you can be more than a liability with good fur."
Shinx sneezed at a fern.
Orion groaned.
Ambush Training – Phase Two: Field Test
The morning drills were simple.
Orion placed a strip of red cloth on a low tree branch about fifteen meters ahead. The goal? Shinx had to stay completely still in the underbrush until Orion gave the signal. Then pounce, hit the target, and retreat.
First attempt?
Shinx jumped before the signal. Overshot. Tackled the wrong tree. Got stuck.
Second attempt?
Waited longer. Got bored. Bit the cloth instead of shocking it.
Third?
Got distracted by a bug and wandered into the stream.
Orion sat on a rock, rubbing his face.
"This is going well."
Tyrunt watched from a distance, chewing a stick like he was pretending it was Shinx's tail.
Grotle had found a patch of sun and was ignoring the world.
Orion blew the whistle again.
Shinx looked up, startled.
"Focus!" Orion snapped. "I'm asking for five seconds of attention, not a tax return."
Shinx grumbled and slunk back into the ferns.
Orion reset the cloth.
Again.
They did ten more reps.
By attempt number six, Shinx was starting to get it.
He'd crouch, wait, twitch, and almost stay still long enough.
By attempt nine, he held for five seconds before launching.
And by ten?
Orion blew the whistle.
Shinx vanished.
No rustle. No sound.
Just a flash of motion.
The cloth exploded off the branch and landed ten feet away, smoking faintly.
Orion blinked.
"…Holy crap."
Shinx trotted back like he hadn't just executed a perfect textbook ambush.
Orion knelt.
"That was actually good."
Shinx purred.
Orion stood.
"Don't let it go to your head."
Purr.
"Stop that."
They resumed walking just before noon, following the curve of a long slope down into a lowland grove. The trees were thinner here, and the air felt clearer—less oppressive, more alive.
Grotle moved steadily, slower than before evolution but with more certainty. Tyrunt was off the path, scouting side lines for edible plants and potential ambushes.
Shinx...
Shinx kept vanishing into the grass.
It was supposed to be a joke—ambush drills, wild distractions.
But then, about ten minutes later, something changed.
Orion was halfway through checking his map when Tyrunt growled.
Grotle stopped walking.
Orion looked up.
"Where's Shinx?"
Then he heard it.
A rustle. Not loud. Not close.
From the air.
He looked up.
Staravia.
Not huge. Second-stage. Fast.
Wings glinting in the sun, beak sharp, eyes scanning the path like it was hunting.
Too low.
Too close.
Orion's hand went for his whistle—
And then Shinx struck.
From the grass.
Like lightning.
A blue and yellow blur launched straight upward.
No noise.
Just a burst of movement and a crack of impact as teeth met feathers mid-flight.
The Staravia screamed, spiraled, and crashed into the trail.
Stunned.
Not dead.
But grounded.
Tyrunt was already moving.
Grotle shifted forward.
Shinx stood over the bird, crackling with static.
Orion walked up slowly.
The Staravia struggled to rise.
Orion nodded once.
"Tyrunt."
The crunch was final.
They ate that night.
Real food.
Grotle didn't care—he stuck to bark and root.
Tyrunt tore into the meat like a king at war.
And Shinx?
Shinx curled up with a full belly and licked his paws like he hadn't just been the reason they weren't starving anymore.
Orion sat by the fireless pit, sharpening his knife.
He didn't say anything for a while.
Then:
"…I'm keeping you, aren't I?"
Shinx rolled over and purred.
Orion shook his head.
"You still suck."
Purr.
"You tased a bird out of the sky like a missile."
Purr.
"You are the dumbest useful thing I've ever owned."
More purring.
Orion pulled out his notebook.
Shinx: Ambush Potential = confirmed. Shock timing: excellent. Now teach him not to chase leaves mid-mission.
He closed it.
Looked up at the stars.
And for the first time in a while… he felt like the team might actually make it.
Eventually.
Probably.
Maybe.