Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

The line goes silent. A click.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

Again, the tone ends without fanfare, not even a dialtone. A heavy sigh sounds. Another click.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

This time, the silence isn’t put to an abrupt end. If one were to listen carefully, they might hear a weighty, rhythmic sound in the backdrop. Crunching footfalls.

Click.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

“I suppose it’s to be expected,” Says the caller under his breath, “The odds that service would extend so far into untouched wilderness…”

He doesn’t elaborate. The footsteps continue inexorably onward, wherever he’s going. A breath trembles.

Click.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

The speaker begins almost as soon as the ringing ends, voice muted in a strange way-- not something he’s actively doing to silence himself, but as if the world around him has limited it. “This is ridiculous. If my call hasn’t gone through yet, it certainly won’t now. The only thing I’m doing is wasting this device’s charge.”

There’s a short silence.

“Though it… doesn’t seem to have depleted over the past two hours. Interesting.”

Click.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

“This doesn’t seem to be doing any harm, so I suppose I can allow the indulgence. It’s just… so quiet here. I’ll take a series of failed calls over the silence. And, perhaps, if I keep trying…”

He breathes out. The tremor in it this time sounds something akin to a strangled sob. The voice goes silent for the duration.

The footsteps, however, continue like clockwork, crunching on and on.

Finally, the line clicks off.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

“I have to afford it this much, it really is beautiful out here. You could never see the stars so clearly in the city, and the way everything is blanketed in a perfect layer of snow-- it would be a sight to behold under better circumstances. I tried to send a picture, but it’s no surprise that it never connected.”

He pauses for a moment. The audible inhale trembles, and so does its matching exhale, but it’s lighter than before. In spite of it, he laughs under his breath.

“Imagine if you could hear me, rattling on about nothing. Should I tell you about the Snorunt, just to be safe? I passed by an entire pack of them, hopping around to their hearts’ content. The amount of energy they have in such a harsh environment is enviable. They jump from snowdrift to snowdrift without the slightest difficulty, and here I am fighting for every step.”

The footfalls are audible as he allows a break in the one-sided conversation.

“I recognize that standard procedure when one finds themselves lost is to remain in place, but I’m afraid it’s no longer an option. I’m unsure how long I spent semi-conscious, but clearly I wasn’t found in that time. As the snow continued to fall, it became impossible to stay where I woke. I hope I haven’t made a horrible mistake.”

His breathing changes. It’s hard to identify in that moment, but when he begins again, the cause becomes clear: he’s coming across with a fabric barrier warping the quality of his speech.

“The cold air is beginning to become painful. I’ll try again once my throat has recovered.”

The line clicks shut.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

“The snowfall has increased. Traversing it has become more difficult, and I’m tempted to walk along the edge of the nearby forest, where it accumulates less. Thus far, the Pokemon here haven’t seen fit to interact with me, and I’ve given them their space out of an abundance of caution, but I’m concerned that following the forest’s boundary might encroach on someone’s territory.”

Where the pattern of regular steps had been audible before, it’s overtaken by the wind now. White noise fills the gap in between thoughts.

“Please tell me the Pokemon stayed behind. I-- I know that you reasonably can’t, you can’t even hear me right now, but if they’re not with me, I can only hope that they’re home instead of lost wherever this is. They don’t deserve that.”

His breathing is still close enough to the receiver to come across, one short hiccup standing out before he’s able to control it.

“A selfish part of me wishes Chandelure, at least, was here. She could do nothing for the cold, but her light would be welcome. To say nothing of the company, of course…”

Similarly unaffected by the buffeting wind-- somewhere close to the receiver-- there’s a delicate tink-tink, and then the distinctive sound of a zipper being done up.

Muffled, the speaker says, “I’ll call you back shortly.”

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

The first thing that comes across as the line opens isn’t the caller’s voice, but the wind, stronger than it had been at any point prior. Beneath it, hidden behind whatever protection he’s mustered, the man can be heard breathing. There’s an undeniable shudder to it that doesn’t go away as he speaks, even though the quality makes it clear that he hasn’t emerged from his comparative haven.

“It’s too risky. There’s no telling what lives in the forests here, and without a Pokemon of my own, the danger can’t be overstated. Unfortunately, that means my only track is to continue through the snow, which grows harder by the minute. I—”

He cuts off abruptly, a startled inhalation sounding. It evens out a moment later, half in relief, half exasperation.

“I’m relatively certain I haven’t looped back on my own tracks, but as the snow continues to fall, it’s impossible to say. The terrain I’ve crossed has presented a number of unique features, which I would take as a good sign, were it not for the fact that I won’t be able to rely upon it for much longer. My visibility is beginning to wane as the-- the storm grows stronger.”

The line goes quiet, but the call doesn’t end. Several minutes pass without comment.

When he finally does speak back up, it’s nearly hidden beneath the building gale.

“I’m grateful that you’re not here, but…”

There’s a hiss. A frustrated, human hiss.

Click.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

“I wish your voicemail would pick up. It would be nice to leave you a message instead of… this, but I’m afraid my reasoning isn’t so altruistic. I didn’t realize a place could simultaneously be so loud and so quiet. I can only speak for so long before it’s snatched away, and even beneath my coat, the cold becomes painful quickly. It’s silly, but it would be a relief to hear your voice, even just as a recording.”

It’s difficult to tell beneath the interference of the wind and the ever-present shivering, but the tremor in his voice shifts. The quality does, as well, making it sound like he’s speaking from deeper in the jacket he’s hiding beneath.

“I’ve been so focused on getting… anywhere that I can’t even remember what we were talking about before we split off this afternoon. I’m not convinced that I have gotten anywhere, and-- and I can’t remember now. It’s buried und--”

There’s a choked sound. It turns into a yelp halfway through, overlapping something coming into contact with the receiver. After a few seconds, a frustrated snarl becomes audible. It’s followed by half a minute’s worth of indistinct fumbling.

“I’m alright.” The speaker says, though the wavering of his voice has increased tenfold. “There must have been something hidden beneath the snow. My derailment was only temporary. I’m going to increase my pace for a moment, to try to warm my engine.”

His voice hitches, like he wants to say something else, but the only audible follow-up is a juddering sigh.

The connection ends.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

“It’s gotten worse.” He says without hesitation. “I can hardly see a meter in front of my face. Even if I had seen any indication that another human has ever set foot here, it doesn’t matter when, for all I know, I’m walking right past them. Not with any speed, mind you. My track is so obstructed that I really do believe a Roggenrola could outpace me right now. The only other option is to find a terminal to wait the storm out, but if I stop here…”

It’s impossible to tell what else might fill the break. The wind has overtaken his breathing to the point where, if one wasn’t careful, even his voice could be lost.

“I’m going to press on, whatever good that might do.”

Click.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

The silence stretches long after the ringing stops, circumstances unknowable with only the wind roaring in the receiver.

After several long minutes, the speaker’s voice sounds. He’s weaker than before, not only from the cold air he has no choice but to breathe in, but the emotion that keeps him in a stranglehold.

“I think I’m going to die here.”

The white noise takes over, but the connection doesn’t end. It stretches past empty minutes and, in the rare lull, one might think they hear breathing again-- ragged breathing, broken up not by involuntary trembling, but a man desperately trying to navigate a snowstorm while his despair struggles to tear loose from him.

He only tries to vocalize once more, well after his lungs have given up the fight as a lost cause.

It’s short.

Nearly imperceptible against the howling backdrop.

Utterly hopeless.

“I’m sorry.”

The call, however, keeps going.

Nothing through the connection indicates the passage of time. No metronomic footsteps, no whisper of breath. There’s never any indication that he tries to speak again, just the wind rushing past the receiver, drowning everything else out. It’s impossible to know what could be happening to the caller.

One might, however, recognize the sound of his body falling into the snow.

Without even the storm to roar across the receiver, it’s completely silent, both the device and speaker encased in a frozen tomb.

Time inches onward, and the lonely minutes become hours.

Crunch, crunch.

“Snnr?”

The line goes dead.