She would find the bloodied Pokemon's tail to be wet, as if it had been drooping into the fountain, threatening to fall backwards into it before she rescued it. The Pikachu was also cold and shivering, clearly on it's last strings, but fighting to hold onto them. It clung to Shiek weakly as she sprinted away, and then started squirming. The very hairs on the back of it's neck stood up, as if it could sense some kind of impending doom.

Impending doom was not terrible far away, the occasional rustle or intentional intimidating sound of something stalking the mysterious hero.