Mudminnow River Bulbasaur

This hour of daylight was cold: instead of a high noon sun, there was a thick film of overcast presiding glumly over the earth. Though the wind had stilled for a time, the air remained hatefully close to freezing. Crumbled sediments of shale, mudstone, and marl crunched underfoot, and the ground felt frosted, even without any snow or ice to be seen. A fine time for dispersal.

The dourfaced Ohanzee moved with the stride of a lookout, or of someone with something to hide. He cut along the frontslope of a looming cuesta, glancing up at the escarpment of caprock as he passed beneath it. Quickfooted, he skirted along the easterly bank of a murky riverstream, heading north.