Mudsdale

Morning has only just settled over the ranch. Dew still clings to the fence posts, the paddocks are quiet, and last night's rain has left shallow puddles scattered across the yard. The ground beyond them is soft and muddy, exactly the sort of terrain a Mudsdale would normally stride through without a second thought.

Yours, however, has other priorities.

Only a few minutes ago, Mudsdale had been thoroughly groomed from nose to tail. Its thick coat has been brushed until it shines, its braided mane sits neatly in place, and even the dried mud packed around its hooves has been carefully cleaned away. It had stood patiently through the entire process, eyes half-closed and perfectly content.

Now comes the walk back to the pasture.

Mudsdale lowers one hoof toward the ground... then pauses.

A puddle.

It slowly draws its hoof back.

"Hrrmph."

The low snort carries a note of unmistakable disapproval.

Rather than stepping through the muddy patch, Mudsdale angles itself several feet to the side, carefully testing the narrow strip of dry grass along the fence. It places one hoof down, then another, taking slow, deliberate steps with all the concentration of something crossing a rushing river instead of a patch of wet dirt.

The route lasts exactly three steps before another puddle blocks the way.

Mudsdale stops again.

It stares at the water.

The water stares back.

"...Mudsdale."

A quiet, almost offended rumble escapes it.

There is, technically, more than enough room to walk straight through. It would take only a few seconds, and by tomorrow its legs would be caked in mud again anyway.

Mudsdale appears to disagree completely.

With a thoughtful huff, it backs up a pace and begins searching for another route, stretching its neck this way and that as though the puddles might disappear if inspected from a different angle. Every so often it glances toward you, clearly expecting some kind of solution to this entirely unacceptable obstacle.

Its immaculate hooves remain planted firmly on dry ground.

If it's going to become muddy again, it certainly isn't going to be by choice.

The afternoon is quiet around the stable. A warm breeze rolls across the fields, carrying the scent of fresh hay and turned earth, while Mudsdale spends the day grazing just beyond the fence. Every so often it lifts its head to watch you, ears flicking lazily before returning to whatever patch of grass seems most appealing.

For a Pokémon large enough to pull loaded wagons through deep mud without slowing down, Mudsdale is remarkably affectionate.

Unfortunately, it's also completely unaware of its own size.

A heavy set of hooves approaches at an unhurried pace, each step slow enough that the ground barely seems to notice despite the weight behind it. Mudsdale ambles over until it's standing beside you, lowering its broad head with a quiet, contented snort.

"Mud..."

It waits for a moment, calm as ever, before gently shifting closer. Then closer still. With all the confidence of a much smaller Pokémon, Mudsdale leans. Not hard. Just enough to rest part of its enormous shoulder against you.

The pressure is immediate. Warm, solid, and considerably heavier than Mudsdale seems to realize. It lets out another satisfied rumble, closing its eyes briefly as it settles into the contact, blissfully unaware that what would be a gentle nudge from a Ponyta feels rather different coming from nearly a thousand pounds of draft horse.

"Mudsdale." The deep call is soft and content.

Apparently deciding this still isn't quite enough, it shifts its weight a little further, carefully adjusting until it's found the perfect position. Its tail swishes lazily behind it, and one ear turns in your direction, listening for any sign of attention while it enjoys simply being close.

To Mudsdale, there's nothing unusual about this. The fact that its idea of a friendly cuddle is capable of pinning someone in place doesn't seem to have occurred to it even once.

The grasslands stretch for miles beyond the last fence line, rolling gently beneath an open sky where wild Pokémon roam much as they always have. Small herds graze in the distance, Skiddo picking their way across the hills while flocks of bird Pokémon drift overhead on the afternoon breeze. Every so often, the deep, steady thud of heavy hooves carries across the fields.

The first time you encounter the Mudsdale, it barely acknowledges your presence.

It stands among a small herd with its head lowered, calmly grazing as you pass along the old trail. One ear flicks in your direction before it returns to its meal, seemingly deciding you aren't worth worrying about.

The second time, it watches.

By the third, it's waiting.

The same stretch of trail. The same broad hill overlooking the grasslands. Mudsdale is already there when you arrive, standing quietly beside the path as though it had expected you.

"Mud."

It steps forward at an easy pace, stopping a respectful distance away. Its dark eyes study you for a long moment before it turns its head toward the open plains behind it, where the rest of the herd can be seen grazing peacefully.

Then it starts walking. After only a few steps, it glances back. It's waiting.

When you don't immediately follow, Mudsdale pauses. It looks at you again, then toward the herd, as if the solution should be perfectly obvious.

"Mudsdale."

The low rumble is patient rather than demanding.

It returns to your side, gently nudging past without making contact, then turns once more toward the distant herd. This time it walks a little farther before stopping, looking over its shoulder with quiet expectation.

The pattern repeats itself with calm persistence. Walk a little; look back; wait.

There isn't a trace of aggression in the gesture, nor any attempt to force the issue. If anything, Mudsdale seems faintly puzzled that you're making this more complicated than it needs to be.

As far as it's concerned, you've been wandering around these grasslands by yourself for days.

Clearly you've become separated from your herd.

And just as clearly, you're coming with it.