The competition was implicit, as was customary between them, but utterly clear from the moment that Dejan set his rucksack down and thrust his right foot up against the base of the lowest branch of the tree, arms tangling to hoist himself up further: This was a race to the top. It didn't matter who won, but until a winner was established, Dejan was going to pretend it did.

He'd dragged Batsen out here with minimal explanation, fawning about a new climbing spot with an infectious enthusiasm he shared with his sister, bubbling on and on without presenting any new information, and now here it was - a mangrove-like tree three kilometres away from the settlement and probably any other clearing. It wasn't a landmark - how Dejan had found it was a stupefying mystery, how he had led Batsen right to it, flawlessly, similarly so. Unless he really is secretly a wood sprite. That would explain a lot, including his current obsession with climbing this tree in some kind of record time. The possibility that he might slip, fall, mangle a limb and break his back evidently doesn't occur to him, but hey, what's new?

His Sentret's caught on, of course, and is contributing itself to the tree-climbing-a-thon with a vertical ascent, motions of its paws accompanied by the softest >thock< >thock< >thock< as they fumble with the aged texture of the bark, bypassing branches most of the time, quickly rushing ahead with the grace of a squirrel.

Batsen shakes his head slowly as they finally find this magical tree of Dejan's. “Forest sprite,” he comments, nodding sagely while doing absolutely nothing to mask his joking grin. “Oh, come on, really?” he calls after his friend as he begins to climb, a hint of jovial exasperation in his voice. He hurries around to the opposite side of the tree where there are a few nice low branches to start on, and begins carefully clambering his way up.

The recently-evolved Sandslash approaches the tree at a more leisurely pace, resting his sharp foreclaws on the bark, muzzle swerving upwards as his eyes lock on his trainer quizzically. A few seconds later Batsen looks down, and makes a beckoning motion with his hand. “C'mon, Kirin, you can do it,” he calls down encouragingly. “It won't be like last time; you've got those sharp claws now, just keep a firm grip on the tree and you'll be fine.” Sandshrews and trees don't tend to get along, they'd learned several months ago. There's a moment of hesitation, and then Kirin's claws dig in to the bark, and he's slowly clambering up towards the first branch. “There, see?” Batsen calls back, before shifting his focus back to climbing higher.

It's unlikely he'll be able to catch up to Dejan - the boy's heart evidently in it, and with Sciuria leading the way, he has an opponent ahead of him fueling his focus. This is so silly. From Dejan, a ways into climbing, a curt “Hurk,” sounds as he nearly loses his grip trying desperately to catch up to his Sentret with an honest to god leap from one branch to another, and three leaves twirl toward the ground, dislodged by a flailing hand as he grasps for balance. But everything seems to be all right by the time Batsen looks. Well, relatively speaking. It wasn't all right that Dejan had to be this unapologetically suicidal.

In all honesty, Batsen was never expecting he'd have a chance of winning this race. Even without Dejan's head start, he's a better climber than Batsen; but he'll be damned if he doesn't at least give him a run for his money. His stomach twists in a knot when Dejan leaps off one branch towards another - then there's a cringe and a sigh of relief when he sticks the landing. “Dejan, don't scare me like that,” he calls up, reaching for the next branch in his ascent.

Kirin, in the meanwhile, seems to be starting to get the hang of this tree-climbing thing. Turns out having sharp claws helps. He's still remaining fairly cautious, though, going only from branch to branch in imitation of the humans rather than climbing straight up as Sciuria is doing.

It's hard to say where exactly Dejan takes his energy from, but he has enough to spare to laugh delightedly at Batsen's statement, as if there were something amusing about it - and then he's back to climbing as if nothing had happened.

Batsen's path up the tree is different, of course - when the plan is to climb the tree mostly in parallel for a race, it's better if one doesn't get in each other's way, both for safety reasons and simply for 'having a chance' reasons. That this would drag his attention to something wholly unusual is not part of the plan - it's certainly not conducive to winning the race - and so when a splash of pure white, slightly iridescent feathers appears as a visual frame for one side of a branch above Batsen and to his right, it serves as a rather crass change of mental subject. The tufts are swaying ever so slightly in the stirrings of the air, and one wing of the unidentified, still largely obscured avian lump seems to be dangling toward the human. Lifelessly?

Batsen pauses briefly with one hand on a branch and his feet on another, eyes scanning up to plan the next bit of his ascent, when a tuft of iridescent white catches his eye. …a bird? A frown of confusion spreads across his face. Not a Pidgey or a Spearow. Maybe something that's not common around Togi? He is a fair distance away from the settlement proper, and in not-terribly-familiar territory, so it's feasible, if very odd. Some fifteen or twenty seconds of climbing later, he's pulling himself up to the branch with the mystery pokémon on it.

The sight that he's treated to… is not pretty. The poor thing's a palm-sized avian, all right, but the way its lying there looks wholly unnatural, its angles all wrong, its spine rather than its belly draped across the branch, open eyes seeming fixed on nothing in particular, a bit empty and unresponsive, though its chest is heaving, and mercifully there seems to be no blood on it. Hypnosis in mid-air? If so, it could have all kinds of broken bones and inner bleeding owing to impact.

Batsen's heart skips a beat as his gaze settles, wide-eyed, on the small avian. The race with Dejan's completely forgotten; he's instead trying to figure out how best to help the poor creature. Slowly, he eases himself along the branch, taking as much care as he can not to jostle it and risk the poor thing falling again. Should he put it in a pokéball? It would probably work; it doesn't look like it could possibly fight back, but he doesn't want to risk spooking it. One hand cautiously reaches out towards it, moving to stroke gently at its feathers.

A broken, barely audible sound escapes the creature, clearly a note of panicked distress, sole manifestation of its no doubt attempted flight from his grasp a twisting twitch of its spine, its head rolling uselessly against the bark of the branch, as if some part of the creature thought to drag itself along the branch by using its own head as a hook. It seems barely perceptive, however, driven by useless remnants of instinct - how much of that is whatever transpired to put it into this hollow state… and how much of that is broken bones?

Dejan's slowing now - in part he's finally losing some energy to the arduous climb, in part he's curious where Batsen is and why he doesn't seem to be hearing any more huffing or climbing sounds attributable to human motion. A long moment later, he's stopped, hanging in the branches, staring down toward the fleck of Batsen he can see. Batsen isn't climbing at all anymore, is he? “Batsen?” There's concern in his voice.

Batsen pulls his hand back, afraid of it causing itself more damage out of frightened instinct. For a moment, he roots around in his pockets - one, two, three… dammit, he must've left his spare empty pokéballs in his backpack, which is still lying by the side of the tree. He's got a couple potions in there too, which would probably help, but they're just as inaccessible.

“Dejan, come down here, you have to see this,” he calls back up after his friend. “…there's some weird pokémon here, it looks badly hurt.” What on earth is it? He digs in another pocket and pulls out his pokédex… give it a bit to boot up… there. He leans forward, making sure the camera has a decent angle, and presses the 'More Information →' button.

'NO DATA FOUND.' “Come onnn…” he mutters to the device, tilting it around and pressing the button a few more times. 'NO DATA FOUND.' …is it working? He leans over the edge and aims the camera towards Kirin, and the entry for Sandslash comes up. Yeah, it's working all right… - so does that mean this pokémon is somehow not in the 'dex?

At 'come down here', Dejan hesitates - for a moment, he's glancing up at his Sentret, grimacing. He can't even see her. It's a lost race, insomuch as it ever was one. Then 'there's some weird pokémon here' reaches him, and he's glancing back down in confusion and concern. He can still only see a sliver of Batsen, and it's not very informative as to what's going on. For a long moment, he's still, both in voice and in motion - then he thaws out of his indecision and climbs down, driven by a growing concern for Batsen and whatever he's discovered.

A branch almost exactly above Batsen comes to bear Dejan's weight, and carefully he shifts himself around on it until he's sitting astride it, then leans forward and slightly to the left, arms holding onto the branch for the moment, glancing down at what Batsen's discovered, firmly anchored into place.

And stares.

“…what-?” he begins, but finds himself too stunned to even continue the question, much less begin to grapple with an answer. “I've never-” Nope. “What is it?” And there's the initial question again, this time fully formed. Then the initial bout of wonder and shock fades and its state rams itself into his conscious perception. He sucks in a breath, tension crawling through him. “Don't move it,” he instructs, voice the most pleasant version of an authorative bark that could possibly be uttered, but still a shocking change of tone - and then he's rising from that temporary drape and almost throwing himself back into a climb. “Sciuria!” he calls up. “Pokéball!” She'd be quicker to get one up to this level than he would, and he wasn't willing to waste any more time than necessary waiting. A moment later, he's down on Batsen's branch, left arm pressed against the bark of the trunk of the massive, sprawling tree, ducked down, regarding the broken form. There's no blood, nothing he can patch up. The creature's mental bindings he could break, but as long as it suffered other damage, it was better staying in that state, rather than trying frantic motions while fully lucid. It was bound to wear off by itself, though. The backs of his right hand's fingers press against his lips for a moment, expression one of concentrated thought.

Somewhere off to their side, Sciuria practically drops down, only connecting to the trunk in generous intervals, giving off a meeping sound. She pauses a short while away, casting a confused glare at Dejan and Batsen, seeming almost oblivious to the bundle of feathers. “Go, go, get a pokéball,” Dejan urges. The Sentret seems uncertain, as if it were interpreting the statement in a way that was wholly out of character for her master. “Please!” he casts her way, the barest hint of a frantic tinge in his voice - and then she's finally continuing her fortunately rapid descent, landing down beside his rucksack a moment later and shoving her head and forepaws into it.

“… I have no idea,” Batsen replies to Dejan's question, almost numbly, blank stare shifting back and forth between that injured pokémon and the screen on his pokédex. 'NO DATA FOUND.' What on earth is it? “Do… do you think the PokéCenter will be able to help it?” he asks, tilting his head back to look up at Dejan. “This looks really, really serious.”

“Fuck if it isn't, I'll walk over to Njoty if they can't handle it,” Dejan grumbles, agitated, the notion that they'd not be able to aid it horrific. Technically, if the Togi PokéCenter can't help, it's vanishingly unlikely the PokéCenter in Njoty can, but he'd probably stubbornly keep trying until he wore himself out. At least there was no rush once the critter vanished inside a pokéball.

On the forest floor beneath them, Sciuria's motions abruptly withdraw from the rucksack, a pokéball trapped between her collarbone and chin, too large to comfortably fit in her mouth. Then she's attached herself to the tree once more and is ambling up along it, tail swaying to keep her balance against it, occasional soft sounds of concentration spilling from her.

Dejan anchors himself against the branch with his legs and his left arm, then thrust his right arm and shoulder down toward Sciuria's approaching form, stare at her attentive, hoping to snatch the device from her as soon as it was in comfortable enough grabbing reach. He had that much patience, at least - the last thing he needed was for fumbling motions to cause it to drop back down.

With a sigh born of frustration mixed with a sense of helplessness, Batsen closes up the pokédex and shoves it back in his pocket, eyes turning back to the fallen pokémon. “It's okay,” he whispers to the small creature. “We'll take care of you, you're going to be all right.” He knows it's probably useless - even if it's lucid enough to hear his words, it likely wouldn't understand them anyway, being a wild pokémon. But right now, it feels like the most he could do is try to comfort it, and without being able to touch it without causing more harm, this is the best he can do.

Kirin, in the meanwhile, seems to be getting the hang of this 'climbing' thing. As long as he keeps looking up, and keeps moving at a steady pace, it's hardly a problem. This is actually kind of fun! A hint of concern enters his expression when he sees Batsen and Dejan bunched up on the branch with worried looks. …is something wrong? He falters mid-climb, claws dragging against the bark for a half-second before he manages to regain his grip, clinging to the tree for dear life.

A moment later, Dejan's fingers grab a hold of the pokéball and he jerks back, nearly overdoing the motion and losing his balance, but quick to steady himself with his free arm. A deft twist of his fingers later, the recall button finds itself in a prominent central position, and… he pauses. Irrationally, he pauses, feeling like there's something fundamentally wrong about catching a pokémon he hasn't hunted for himself, but that's just lying there, dying slowly. But how is that different at all? Irritated with himself, he touches the pokéball gently but firmly against the iridescent white feathers, and the dazed pokémon is engulfed in a red glow, giving only the softest sound that could be interpreted as a distressed protest - and then it's gone, vanished into the device. Dejan exhales. “Okay,” he comments. “Now… we have some time.” He looks up to Batsen. There's another pause, before he holds the pokéball out to his friend, expression almost exaggeratedly solemn. “You found it.”

When the pokéball seals shut, a wave of relief washes over Batsen. It's still alive. And it'll stay in stasis up until Dejan brings it to the PokéCenter, and then… well, he's not sure what'll happen then. Hopefully it'll be all right. When Dejan offers him the pokéball, though, his expression turns momentarily confused, and then incredulous. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “You're the one who caught it; you should have it. Besides, it's your pokéball.”

“Fuck you, Batsen, it's yours,” Dejan comments, casually. “You can buy me a new pokéball, but it's no challenge catching something in a state like that and I wouldn't have found it. It's yours,” he says, staring near-blankly at Batsen. Sounds like he's serious. The arm holding out the pokéball certainly isn't budging an inch.

Batsen's gaze shifts between Dejan's face and the offered pokéball for several long moments, finally settling into a glare directed at the former. His free hand balls into a fist and thumps against his friend's shoulder, hard enough to be keenly felt but nowhere near forceful enough to cause harm or knock him off balance. “Fine,” he grunts, snatching the offered pokéball, before placing it carefully in his pocket.

It's around then that a whimpering noise can be heard from below. “Kirin?” Batsen leans to the side, finding the sandslash clinging to the tree, eyes squeezed shut. “What's the matter? You stuck?” Kirin opens his eyes, gazing up at Batsen, before making that sound again. Batsen fishes around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a pokéball decorated with a painted grid of sand-colored rhombuses. “…do you want to try climbing down, or go back in your ball?” After a few moments of Kirin staring wistfully at the pokéball, Batsen nods. “All right then,” he says, and presses the recall button, causing a beam of red light to envelop the sandslash; a second later, he's gone.

Dejan's grin at the thump of course gives the game away - it'd take more than a rejected 'gift' for him to start getting genuinely upset with Batsen, after all. As the exchange with Kirin happens, he glances across to the creature with some curiosity, making something of a face as he sees its awkward cling. As it's withdrawn, the clouded look disappears as quickly as it appeared, however, and Dejan's nudged himself back into a climb - this time, down the tree. “Come on, Sciuria,” he prompts the Sentret, smiling across at it. “And thanks for you help,” he appends softly, only to fall silent as the climb consumes all of his attention.