Shelf Life ❄️ Pokémon Short Story

2 ❄️ He Goes By Mamoswine

6:45 AM

A quarter of an hour later, it was time to go.

"Seven times eleven," Pap said as he led him outside.

"Seventy-seven." The steppe was black, silent, and freezing cold, save for the thin line of blue-white in the distance as the sun approached the mountainous horizon. The Mareep milled nearby, and they looked up, their ears pricking, at the sound of Troy and Pap's footsteps crunching through the snow; some brayed out a greeting, others begged for water. One came for a pat on the head from Troy — Lacey, he thought it was Lacey, she was always nice to him, but it could've been her sister, Petty, she was kind of nice too — before rushing back into the core of the herd, a giant mass of wool that looked like a heavy cloud come down to earth.

Mam and Ellen came out of the tent behind them, Mam with a giant broom used to wipe snow off the top of the tent, and Ellen with a big bucket — once Troy left for school, she and Pap would head down to the creek and punch a hole through the ice for the liquid underneath. They would then haul it back up to the tent and put it in the troughs for the Mareep. It was long, grueling work, and Troy was glad he didn't have to do it anymore. Though school brought with it its own kind of suffering.

"Six times five," Pap said as they made their way to the edge of the herd.

"Thirty." Troy's reply was almost lost under Merrick's rumbling growl, a heavy, vibrating sound that resounded from the base of the Mamoswine's throat. The giant Pokémon milled about here at the outskirts of the camp, chewing on brush from the only tree to be seen for several miles in any direction. He growled as the two approached, and greeted Troy with a heavy poke in the stomach with one of his tusks. For only the fifth time since his early childhood, the playful blow didn't completely knock him over.

"Lunch?" Pap asked. He was carrying a cane, not one used for walking, but to unfurl the rope ladder tucked underneath Merrick's saddle. He fiddled it loose with the end of the long stick, and it tumbled down the Mamoswine's furry side.

"Yep," Troy said. "She said soup today, and an apple. When are we going to have meat pie again?"

"Maybe for Christmas. What about your social studies book? Ellen was looking at it last night. Did you remember to pack it?"

"Yes."

"Sneakers for PE?"

"Yes."

"How about extra pencils? Did I give you the ones I got from the village last week?"

"Yeah." It had been a pack of mechanicals, in assorted colors. His favorite was the green — it seemed to be his good-luck color. Hopefully, it would help him pass the test today.

"Okay, then. Up." Pap stepped aside, and Troy took the ladder in his gloved hands, ascending up Merrick's side. He swung his leg high when he reached the top, and seated himself comfortably on the adult-sized saddle. It was a nostalgic feeling — he remembered when he'd first climbed up here, four years ago. It had been like standing on top of a mountain or, as he more clearly remembered it, a perilous cliff — he'd cried so hard and had been unable to get down without Pap's help. He was embarrassed to remember it now.

"Ah!" Pap said. "One more thing." He rubbed his hands together vigorously, as if he was washing them in the basin, and then pushed his palms up towards Troy.

"What are you doing?" Troy asked.

"Giving you all my smarts," Pap said. "Just for today. A little magic to help you pass your test." He pointed at him. "Twelve times seven."

"Eighty...four?"

"You see? It's working! Don't use it up all at once." Pap winked at him, and then patted Merrick's side. "Off you go. Be safe."

Merrick rumbled and shifted beneath Troy, and took one earth-rumbling step, then another, moving heavily through the snow. The Mareep parted around him as the Mamoswine went, and when they passed the tent, Mam and Ellen waved goodbye. They passed Pap's motorcycle, the tool and wood pile, and the latrine, and then Merrick stooped on thick legs, sweeping the snow with his long tusks and testing the ground for patches of ice before moving into the thicker drift beyond.

Troy muttered his times tables to himself as they went, watching the black, snowy landscape rise up around them as they descended down the steppe. Before they reached the village, he absolutely had to get these twelves right.

Luckily, he had six kilometers to practice.

—

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Note: I think Mamoswine is underused in Pokemon fics, don't you? If you want another story featuring this big, burly steed, check out By Your Side by Torterra657.