Once upon a time, the Digital World was in grave danger. Evil spread across the land, corrupting some and crushing others. A chosen few heroes stood up to turn it back, confronting loss, betrayal, and power beyond their comprehension; the odds were slim, and victory would come at a heavy price.
This is not that story.
The little guy nods an appreciative "bota!" and sets to eating the fallen fruit, half a sphere at a time.
Puttimon will try one too. It’s only fair he get to taste the fruits of his labor!
The fruit crushes easily, bursting with tangy juice and pulp. His surface also feels tougher, more like a hide or a carapace, but the feeling passes quickly.
It’s good that the feeling passed quickly. Puttimon doesn’t want to be less soft! Being soft is great! This is clearly not a fruit for him. It’s nice that Botamon likes it, though.
He pats Botamon and hops off in search of friendlier fruits.
Or this tree has some bright clusters of fruit, if he'd rather look higher.
Oh no choices. He’ll... try the groundfruits first, because if he wants the treefruits he’s in a better position to get them later than the other blobs, who he’s noticed mostly don’t have wings.
He heads over to the groundfruits. Nom!
Nom. This fruit is tender and juicy and layered with a warm assurance that things are going to turn out just fine.
The first leaf he tries tastes green and a little bitter-sweet. The flavor reminds him of soaring gently through cool puffy things (clouds!), watching the setting sun paint the world, in every warm color from purple to gold. The sky, the ground, the clouds - even his own arms and wings and legs bathed in autumn hues.
...Puttimon didn't think he'd done that yet! He doesn't even have most of the appendages that were bathed in autumn hues, and his wings don't look like the wings in that memory did! (They were pretty, though.) The memory fits, though - it makes sense to him in that way that memories do, and it nestles into his brain where memories go.
It's nice. He munches on some more leaves.
The next leaf tastes similar, but instead of flying, this one reminds him of a conversation. Chatting with a woman somewhat taller than him, feeling more relaxed and comfortable than he'd felt in ages. She's wise and kind and radiant in that smile, and she pays him more attention than anyone ever has, because she sees something special in him. With her, he's finally safe.
The third leaf is a little greener, calling to mind the feeling of the air scattered by his madly fluttering wings, his body tight with exertion as he finally holds his body aloft, his practice and effort giving him the strength to support himself and reach for his goal. He may not have the clouds yet, but he can still fly, and nobody can take that from him. Victory is only a matter of time.
The fourth leaf he bites into takes him to the moment of finally capturing the winged warrior who had stood in his way so many times. Holding her aloft in his blackened left claw. Punching his pristine right hand through her chest; pulling it out, bloody, gripping her shining golden Digi-Core. Crunching it in his mouth. Feeling her otherwise-immortal soul dissolve, her power now his forever.
Pleasant pleasant aaaaaah!
"Putti!" Puttimon squeaks, hopping away from the plant in a panic. That was not a nice memory! He doesn't like that memory at all! He tries to stop thinking about it, but it turns out that when you only have about a dozen memories, trying not to think about one of them is not very easy.
After a few seconds of panicked hopping in circles and some tears falling from his eyes, he remembers the berries that made him feel like everything was going to be okay. He hops back to the plant and, being exquisitely careful not to get any leaves in his mouth, he noms a couple of berries.
Everything will be sweet and red and juicy and okay. The past is in the past. There won't be any danger here, and he won't have to leave.
...Puttimon is going to cry some more now, because he misses someone he barely remembers who told him things like that before. Before what? He still doesn't understand. He just knows that she was there, and she isn't anymore; he has one memory of her, from this dumb trauma plant, and that's all he has.
It turns out that crying while eating strawberries with your face is a good way to end up covered in sticky red juice and tears. This is far from ideal.
A red-and-blue creature several times his size pads up near him, keeping itself low and visible.
"Hey there, little sundrop," he says, quietly. "Memory troubles?"
(Getting comfortable he stretches his right foreleg out and a bit forward. It's not exactly an invitation, but a hug-inclined blob could certainly bounce in there.)
Puttimon nods, then hops into close quarters. He would like as many hugs as possible.
Hug a snug bug. Elecmon gives him a squeeze and a few pats.
After a minute or two, he adds, "Know what always takes my mind off the past? Going for a run. Can't panic when you're focused on your body."
Hmm. Hmmm. “...Putti,” Puttimon says, and theatrically tries to wipe the juice from his face with one wing. Being sticky is more uncomfortable than being sad, at the moment.
Yeet!
Puttimon is now flying through the air, a pond coming into view ahead of him.
Sploosh!
Puttimon giggles uproariously. The red creature is a Good Big Friend. He washes his face clean, then hops onto the shore and wiggles himself dry. He still feels a little bit pensive, but he's not really sad anymore, which is a win. He's gonna be staying away from the strawberry plant for a while, though. Instead he heads over to the fruits that hang in clusters, flutters into the air, and bites into one cautiously. Hopefully this will not turn out to be another trauma plant?
The fruit is very juicy: sweet and slightly tart and tingly like sunlight all across his surface, feeling warm and radiant.
This post has the following content warnings:
View Flat HTML
View Metadata
Search Post
