On the anniversary of the previous Lord’s death, Sneasler found her way to his den and destroyed it.

There were no lingering siblings, uncertain where else they might go, no usable supplies or mementos of worth– just long-rotted bedding and evidence of squatters. When she’d vented her frustrations, she felt absolutely no shame in carving up the stone above its entrance and letting the rockfall seal it away from the world.

Then, just to spite her late father, she immediately beat a path to her own den– to where she could lay her head in her Warden’s lap and rest, without ever having to spare a thought for her own safety.

The former Lord Sneasler had been a fool of the highest caliber. A suspicious, vindictive [idk] of a Pokemon, and, by the time of his passing, Sneasler would have been surprised if he’d been capable of opening his heart to anyone. Certainly, he hadn’t seen fit to try with her misfit human, and she knew in her own heart that it had been his downfall– perhaps not directly, but as a microcosm of the [matter].

Some legends posited that the spirits of Nobles lived on after their deaths. If that was true, she wanted him to see. She wanted him to know which of his children had succeeded him. She wanted him to understand how far astray his [suspicion] had led the Pearls. She wanted him to recognize what his rejection of the unknown had nearly cost them.

More than anything, Sneasler wanted him to see that she’d done better than he ever had.

The hand scratching behind her plume fell into place and found the perfect spot, and she nestled toward it in encouragement, the purr in her chest graduating from [idk] to [idk]. For a long moment, that was all she could think: perfect, perfect, perfect. Perfectly safe, perfectly understood, perfectly happy. What other Noble, living or dead, could boast so much? None, she would bet– save, perhaps, for those who’d first received Arceus’ blessing, but even those poor souls would’ve had to split that attention ten ways.

There was a hitch in the delightful [idk] through her fur, and she tilted her head back to nose at the offending hand, getting in a quick, harmless nip while she was there. Ingo snorted and, heedless of the teeth she’d been so gracious as to show him, poked her nose.

[…]

Perfect though it was, she knew it couldn’t last. Her human would never be safe when he was still so willing to reach out and lend a hand, would never be understood amongst the insular Pearl Clan, would never be happy when the half-formed ghosts of his forgotten past wouldn’t stop haunting him. Sneasler could do everything in her power– would defend him to her own end, if it came to it– but a Noble, for all that they [idk] couldn’t change the hearts of humans.