The walk'd felt too long, even though he'd camped so close to the northern path into New Bark that he could see it from where he'd slept. Traveling from Goldenrod without a flier had taken too much time, been too hard, and the ground under his back had felt infinitely less forgiving than in had when he'd been a good six inches shorter.
But finally, after what – half a week? He'd gotten home. Not that it was home anymore, per se, because that that honor was currently being held by a dumpy little studio loft back in the city. But New Bark had family – something that he doubted Goldenrod would ever give him – so he guessed that referring to it as something fonder than a getaway wasn't that much of an overstatement.
Standing atop the moor looking over town, Ethan rolled his shoulders and didn't bother holding back a yawn (that popped and squeaked mid-way, something that he still couldn't shake a good four years after his voice had finished dropping). A few low noises sounded off in the thicket behind his makeshift camp, and though he figured that they'd probably just come from a few Pokémon stirring in the early morning, he felt the back of his belt to reaffirm that the three partners he'd left with were still there.
He didn't know who else was in the area, innocently lost or skulking around to hunt for trouble. It didn't hurt to be prepared for the worst.