At Jesse Mitchell’s gruff insistence, Dillon, Sam, and Owen ceased their training attempts and began their march toward the great Viridian Forest. Pikachu and Squirtle trotted alongside them at first, but soon the Electric Type scampered up onto Dillon’s shoulder, and Owen found his arms full with his Water Type.

  “Most Pokémon aren’t equipped for extended traveling the way humans are,” Sam said as if quoting a textbook. “It’s one reason the invention of the Pokeball was so revolutionary to modern societies.”

  Owen adjusted his armload. “What?”

  “Most Pokémon aren’t equipped…”

  “I heard you the first time! What did you say?”

  Sam glanced over at him, then to Dillon.

  “I think Sam said you should put Squirtle in the Pokeball,” Dillon suggested.

  “But he didn’t say that. And anyway, Squirtle was in the Pokeball all morning, so it needs fresh air.” Owen looked at Jesse. “Right?”

  “We’ll discuss breathing in the morning,” Jesse said stiffly. “Right now we want to get as far into the forest as we can.” He indicated the sun’s position relative to their direction of travel. “Sun rises in the east and sets in the west. We’re heading north. Takes about a day and a half, walking, to go north/south through Viridian Forest. As long as you keep pace, I don’t care if Squirtle is out or not. Won’t hurt Squirtle either way.”

  Owen trekked along for a few more minutes before deciding to put Squirtle into itsPokeball.

  “Good idea,” Sam said sarcastically.

  Owen glared.

  “Might want to save your breath there, guys,” advised Dillon. “Dad’s setting a pretty quick pace.”

  Jesse slowed down slightly, remembering that his charges, for all their youth, had less experience and adrenaline driving them forward. He glanced back.

  Dillon had a lanky build, and was used to running around Oak’s ranch in Pallet Town, so he seemed comfortable enough. Sam had a similar build, but it was evident that he spent most of his time indoors. Owen used to run around with Dillion, but he was stockier, and still had the pudge that thirteen-year-olds tended to build before a growth spurt. Jesse expected that either Sam or Owen would want to take a break within the hour. He hoped it would be Owen. Owen was his best friend’s son and had grown up next door to the Mitchells. He was like family. Before today, he had last met Sam four years ago, when Jesse had taken Dillon for a trip into Viridian City to meet with an industrialist. Dillon and Pikachu had met Sam and immediately raced into the forest behind Sam’s house to play with Pikachu and Sam’s camera.

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  Jesse focused on the forest ahead. His brow furrowed. The boys had come back with a neck injury and a smashed camera. Dillon had said that they had ran into a wild Beedrill nest, but he never talked about it, or Sam, since then. Not until Jesse had informed him about the supervised Gym circuit the league was rolling out had Dillon casually insisted on making sure Sam was invited to join them. Jesse could never be sure what his son was thinking, but he hoped that Viridian Forest wouldn’t be traumatizing this time.

  “Could we slow down a little more,” Sam asked.

  Jesse sighed inwardly.

  “Tired already?” Owen puffed. He put on a little jog to get ahead of Jesse.

  “You’ve got breath to talk, you’ve got breath to walk,” Jesse replied, a little sharply.

  Dillon matched his pace to Sam’s and winked at him. Sam gave him a look of befuddlement and kept walking.

  Jesse hid a smile. He knew Dillon had seen him use this trick before, while training Pokémon. Once Sam got used to pacing with Dillon, Dillon was going to slowly increase his speed.

  So arranged, the four Pokémon trainers began their journey through the Kanto Region. Owen led the way for a while, under Jesse’s experienced guidance. They avoided the heaviest of the tall grass so as not to disturb any resting wild Pokémon. The sun climbed high, and Jesse slowed the pace to give everyone a chance to drink some water.

  “Small sips,” Jesse cautioned. Sloshing water felt terrible on a long walk, and their bodies needed to manage processing the water on top of all the physical exertion.

  Sam forced himself to slow his drinking, Dillon took practiced swigs, and Owen tried to swallow his full mouthful just a little bit at a time. He was succeeding until he heard Dillon gargling water behind him. Owen sputtered out his mouthful before he could start choking, which caused Dillon to laugh and immediately start choking. Sam ignored them and Jesse just shook his head.

  “Are we going to stop for lunch?” Sam asked Jesse.

  “Not ‘til we get to the forest,” was Jesse’s reply. “Only real shade around for a while.”

  The sun wasn’t hot, but it was constant. Normally Sam would have considered this a pleasant spring day, perfect for walking to the library or taking his Pokémon to play in the yard for an hour. Now, he felt as though the sun was only shining on the back of his neck and on his forehead, and it felt as warm as his feet. Leg muscles he hadn’t known existed ached, and his socks felt damp in his boots. Occasionally he wondered if he should have accepted Dillon’s invitation. This was more painful than he’d imagined, and it wasn’t like they knew each other very well. Not outside that one day they’d played together as kids.

  That one day they’d almost been murdered.

  Second worst day of Sam’s life.

  Owen plodded along, missing the coolness carried by Pallet Town’s ocean breeze. He didn’t feel hot, exactly, but noticeably warmer than he was used to. Drier also, like when he’d been sitting next to a campfire for too long. The kids of Pallet Town had a secret burn pit that Brian had established long ago, before he’d left town to be a Pokémon trainer. Owen didn’t remember him very well (he had been three at the time), but Brian had also hidden things around the house for Owen to find. A town map with some noted locations, two empty Pokeballs, a letter which Owen had made their dad read until it was memorized, a small gasoline motor carefully disassembled with instructions, and a constellation of stars that had been carefully painted inside the attic. It didn’t match any of the stars outside - he and Dillon had looked - but Owen was certain it had some special meaning regardless. Each treasure had contained a short note, or Brian’s simple greeting from years ago. “HF,” painted in the corner of the stars. “Hey, Fighter.” No matter what, Owen was determined to find his brother and learn what the gifts had meant. Even if it meant keeping secrets.

  Dillon quickened his pace ever so slightly.