The sodden script fell wetly into his palm. Red looked at the spearow, which remained still as a statue, watching him with those unnerving eyes. The boy quickly turned his attention back to the letter, rather than let himself be mesmerized. As he unrolled it, he found that the ink hadn't run, even in such weather. He began to read.
I trust this missive finds you and your aqueous associate well.
At this, Red paused. His life, lived entirely after the Upheaval, had left him prepared for many things, but flowery language was not one of them. Of course the old man was referring to Nyoromo, but 'aqueous'? Was that some form of compliment? Sighing, Red looked again at the parchment.
The storms of the previous night, both stellar and terrestrial, made no lasting impact on my being. That is to say, despite a renewed battle with rheumatism, I am otherwise whole.
Surviving too is Zume, my avian friend who has agreed to deliver this to you. Think not that I care nothing for your health. I merely assume that if you are reading this, you have survived unhurt.
Our current welfares aside, I think it appropriate that we address the meat of the matter. You braved the Lesser Forest to reach Viridian (may it find revival). Clearly you exhibit the spirit of an explorer. Allow me to suggest the next destination in your journey. Pewter City, if it still exists, would be the nearest bastion of human civilization, excepting Pallet, of course. Not only logical, the progression from Viridian to Pewter would mirror the journey taken by many in those years now lost to us.
The route to the north, where Pewter lies, is a perilous one, though. For in its center grows the Old Wood- the trees from which all of Viridian Forest sprang. If what you passed through was dangerous, than these arborous ancients hide catastrophe.
Celadon City is, in truth, nearer than Pewter, but to reach it on must traverse the Digda range- treacherous ground. So upset by years of burrowing are the rocks, that but a step can upset them and cause avalanche. It was a feat in my youth, when the pokémon themselves were no threat.
Thus it is to Pewter you shall go. While you will face terrors, I'm sure, the journey is not equatable with suicide as is the case with Celadon. I shall keep in contact with you by way of Zume. Fare well.
(Here the signature was so wiry and expansive, Red couldn't begin to read it)
Post Script: Avoid the west. Strange storms brew on the Plateau.
Red sat back, thinking. Pewter seemed a sensible destination, but the Old Wood worried him. Yet what choice was there? A return to Pallet was out of the question; with no spoils he had no right. The forest he had passed through surely held Green, and was therefore possibly more dangerous than the north.
As he thought, he watched Nyoromo, who had squirmed his way to freedom, and was waddling around Zume. The tiny thing was bubbling slightly, and kept repeating a friendly "Poli!" Zume, however, merely preened. When the poliwag came too near for its liking, it thrust its foot - Spearow apparently do kick - and knocked Nyoromo to the ground. The pokémon's large eyes fell on Red, who looked back as it squirmed.
"Wag?" asked Nyoromo
"Alright. Pewter it is." sighed a defeated Red. After a fruitless search to find a way to write a reply, he opted to tie a scrap of cloth from his already ruined bag to Zume. Almost before he finished, the bird made a single powerful flap to become airborne, a second to turn, and a third to vanish from sight.
Red watched it leave, wishing he could travel so quickly. Turning, he gazed up to where the cliff vanished from sight. The wall would be slippery, and he could barely see it. But the light, which had been steady for some time, could only fade as day wore to night.
"No time like the present." he muttered as he scooped Nyoromo back into his improvised pack and began to climb.