Southern Ulimaroa
A dusty wake billows over the badlands, silt and clay drifting down upon the landscape to leave the scarce brush dusted with a russet snow. As bad as conditions might seem to the vegetation now, they'll be getting far worse in short order. A warm breeze blows from the north. The first tickle of the northern winds, it's a telltale sign that an Ashfielder is on the way - and with it, monstrous dust storms and surging mercury.
Wind whipping through her silvery mane, Rhea rides on ever forward and ever faster.
Few caught in the maelstroms unprepared live to tell the tale. Blinded, scoured by wind-borne earth, and stumbling through a choking cloud, many wind up lost and unable to be found, ultimately succumbing to the elements. To tangle with an Ashfielder without a plan is to gamble with angels, staking one's life on winning a miracle.
Most know better than to take the risk, of course. When a searing wind rolls in from the north, those acquainted with the badlands make their choice. They hunker down, finding sturdy shelter and closing up the windows. That, or they dare to outrun it.
"It's on its way," Rhea calmly shouts, raising her voice only to remain audible over the thundering footsteps of the bird beneath her. She offers the Dodrio a reassuring pat on one of its necks, and Scirra crows in acknowledgement.
Scirra hastens, lowering two of her heads for better aerodynamics. The third, on her left, remains at rest, its neck coiled close to its body as it sleeps. The two alert heads split the duties of running over the arid landscape, the central head's gaze fixed straight ahead as it keeps the body at full sprint and the rightmost head scanning the upcoming rocks to make the microadjustments needed to keep its body balanced.
Entrusting navigation to Scirra, Rhea raises a finger to better gauge the direction and intensity of the breeze. Air flows around her finger as placid waters in a sediment-choked stream flow around a stone, telling her all that she needs to know. They still have upwards of seven minutes. They'll beat it - not that there was ever any doubt. They could outrun anything together. Running ever forward, they had never fallen to the clutches of stagnation, and they had fashioned themselves into some of the best private couriers in all of Ulimaroa.
"We'll make it," she relays to Scirra, who in turn lets out a sharp, distinctive chirp. The sound catches the attention of a colleague flying high above.
Leading the Dodrio, Chiro the Swoobat acknowledges the message with a chirp of her own. Their destination - a relatively young mining operation plumbing the badlands for the rare Dozing Ore - sits comfortably within her field of view thanks to her higher vantage point. Joyfully performing barrel rolls and chittering as she soars, she idly scans the stretch ahead for threats and obstacles. Fortunately for her, not so much as a snake catches her eye, leaving her able to devote more energy to play than to her work.
For three members of the crew, the coming Ashfielder registers as a non-threat, but not so for Rhea's fellow passenger. Sitting behind her trainer, just above the base of the Dodrio's tale, Kartu the Gligar clings to Rhea.
The crew's ostensible rear guard burrows her face into Rhea's back, using her pincers to hold tightly to her jacket. With a thick carapace able to withstand dust's assault and physiological adaptations minimizing her need for water, Kartu has the littlest to fear from being caught out in the badlands, but with the least experience on these operations, she nevertheless clenches her eyes shut and holds fast to Rhea.
The whistling of the winds may as well be the beeping of a countdown clock, incessantly reminding the courier team of a potential impending disaster. Soon but not soon enough for Kartu's nerves, Scirra begins to slow, bracing her talons against the earth with each step as she brings herself to a stop at the edge of a cul-de-sac of heavy duty trailers. Rhea's falling mane draping itself over Kartu signals to the Gligar that they've arrived.
With the coming dust storm just creeping into the very edge of Chiro's view as Kartu dares to release her grip on her trainer, Rhea hops off of Scirra. Turning to the Dodrio, she offers scritches to each of the bird's heads, gently rousing the sleeping head by stroking its crest. "We'll drink inside. Probably a good time for you to rest," she tells Scirra as the central head yawns and curls its neck.
Not missing a beat, Rhea moves to scoop up Kartu, lifting the Gligar into her arms. "Hey." She raises Kartu to her face so they can look eye-to-eye, making a point of grounding Kartu in conversation to dispel her anxieties. "That's the head office," she says, pointing to a nearby trailer and drawing a handful of thick envelopes and folders out of her pockets. "You want to be the one to hand these in?" Now with a narrow and achievable task to focus on, Kartu lights up, sticking her tongue out of her mouth and relaxing as she gently takes the delivery in her pincers.
Reinvigorated, Kartu leaps from Rhea's arms, gliding her way towards the door. A descending Chiro squeals with delight as she lands on Rhea's head and nestles into her hair. Their job here just about finished, Rhea recalls Scirra into a Fast Ball to ease the task of getting the bird through the door. Another successful sprint behind her, she follows Kartu to the head office's door, hurrying along before the storm can wash over the encampment. "Not the warmest I've felt," she remarks to her companions on her way in. "Should be a short duration event. Get your rest in; we're moving out as soon as it clears."
