A cold day in hell.

The sun was shining from high above the Frozen Stream, covering the shining snow and ice with its glittering light, but devoid of warmth.
And while the frigid wastes proved to be the ideal camouflage for the Nincada's white exoskeleton the frigid temperatures were something the Bug type would rather have done without. Quite nervous he was because of the stream nearby also. Water and Ice were two types the Ground type certainly wasn't too fond of due to his weakness against them. Okay, he was weak against pretty much any- and everything, but these types provided him with an additinal disadvantage that further showcased his inability to do anything right.
There were so many other Pokémon who had accomplished so much more than he would ever be able to.
Some were famous explorers or mythical warriors. Great poets, artists or scientists. All kinds of incredible and powerful Pokémon existed in the worlkd out there.
And what had Ned managed to accomplish thus far? He was a pathetic, little bug fleeing through the entire continent.
He didn't rule a guild. He wasn't a guildmaster's secretary. He wasn't even a member of any guild! But no matter how futile, he would just have to keep on going, knowing fully well that he would never amount to anything in life.
The Nincada began to wonder why Pokémon would voluntarily live in these barren lands.
They probably had friends, families, something to be proud of.
Ned didn't have anything of that sort. His "family" he had run away from.
And there certainly wasn't anything worthy of pride in his life. Everyone kept telling him how great he was, but he knew they were just lying to make him feel better - no, to make themselves feel better. He would never amount to anything, no matter how hard he would try. Some things were simply not meant to be.


(E=29-18=11)