It started with a breeze.
I was walking the narrow trail behind our garden, where the wild bushes grew thick and the stone wall gave way to old farmland. I liked to come here after lunch, notebook in hand, to observe the Pidgey flock that sometimes gathered in the distant tree line.
But today, the air felt wrong.
Still.
Tense.
And then I heard it.
A low hiss. Followed by a sharp, pained chirp.
I stepped off the path, heart already racing. I moved slowly, carefully, parting a curtain of leaves. And there—nestled in a patch of flattened grass—was a Pidgey.
It was trembling.
Its left wing sagged unnaturally, the feathers stained and ruffled. One of its claws was pressed against its chest, as if trying to shield itself.
A Meowth crept forward, tail twitching, claws unsheathed.
Predator. Opportunist.
I didn't think.
I stepped into the clearing.
"Hey!" I shouted, louder than I expected.
The Meowth froze, golden eyes locking onto mine. Then it hissed—angry, annoyed—and darted off into the brush, its ambush foiled.
The Pidgey flinched.
Pidgey – Yellow (Core)Injured. Vulnerable. Emotionally cautious. Will respond to calm, supportive care.
I crouched low, holding out both hands, palms up.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I said softly. "I saw what happened. I just want to help."
The Pidgey's eyes darted to mine—wide, alert, and full of uncertainty. Its good wing lifted defensively.
"I can fix your wing," I said. "Well, my mom can. She has supplies. And I know how to wrap it. You won't be able to fly for a few days, but you'll recover."
The bird didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just watched.
I stayed still. Let the wind speak for me. Let the silence stretch until the Pidgey could feel my sincerity.
Finally, it gave a slight, tired chirp.
Then… it lowered its wing.
And for the first time, I knew I had its trust.
Carrying it home was tricky.
The Pidgey refused to be touched at first, so I guided it gently into my open backpack, lined it with my scarf, and held it close to my chest all the way back.
When I arrived, my mother blinked in surprise. "Ray? What's that?"
"A hurt Pidgey," I said quickly. "It can't fly. I think it fell or got attacked."
She didn't ask questions. She just nodded and reached for the cabinet.
We cleaned the wound first—lukewarm water, a cloth dabbed with pecha berry extract, and slow, careful hands. The Pidgey winced at first but didn't resist.
The wing was sprained, not broken. That was good. But it would need to be immobilized.
I wrapped it carefully, using one of Mira's spare bandages. We supported it with a soft splint made of dried bark and cloth.
"You'll need at least three days to rest," I told it later, as it lay on a small nest of towels beside my bed. "Four to fly again."
The Pidgey blinked slowly.
I took that as agreement.
The next few days became a new rhythm.
I woke up early to check its bandage, refresh its water bowl, and offer it crushed berries—mostly ones my mom prepared for injured Pokémon. I even started trying recipes of my own.
A mix of sitrus pulp, mashed oran, and lightly steamed roots. The Pidgey stared at it skeptically the first time.
"I call it... Feather Fuel," I said with mock pride.
It took a bite.
And chirped.
Approval.
I talked to it constantly.
Told it stories—some real, some from old Pokémon games I barely remembered. I kept my tone soft, non-threatening. I let it see that I wasn't here to dominate or command it.
I was here to care.
And slowly, something changed.
The tension in its eyes faded.
It stopped flinching when I approached.
It chirped when I entered the room.
And on the fifth morning, when I opened my window, I found the Pidgey already awake—perched on the edge of its towel nest, eyes half-closed, soaking in the sun.
Pidgey – Yellow (Core) → Yellow (Deep)Bond formed. Emotional trust secured. Early growth conditions aligned.
I didn't gasp.
Didn't jump.
I just smiled.
Because this wasn't about aptitudes anymore.
This was about connection.
That night, I placed a fresh towel on the windowsill and sat beside it.
"If you want to stay after you heal," I said, "you can. I don't have a Poké Ball. I don't even know how to catch a Pokémon yet."
I paused.
"But if you want to stay, I'll take care of you. I'll train with you. We can grow together."
The Pidgey tilted its head.
Then gave a slow, deliberate nod.