For once, Nin has been quiet, something that Muin truly appreciates. It had taken some effort, a clever narrative spun around the fact that 'If you wish to become a hunter, you must be stealthier, or you will always scare your prey away', but once the Rowlet had bought it, she had settled for perching herself on his shoulder in silence.

He hadn't been lying either. Not really. After all, the reason why they haven't seen any Deerling by now may just be just that: his Pokémon are too loud.

This time, they move through the forest without a sound.

<'Wha—! What's going on?!'>

The Sewaddle soundly falls to the leaf-coated ground when attacked by Nin, and honestly, at that very moment, Muin feels kind of sorry for it. He has a heart sometimes, alright?! At least when it comes to things he likes.

<'Don't hurt me! Please!'>

The small Pokémon's panic is obvious, even to the Rowlet that wastes no time with jumping onto it as if it really were prey for her mighty talons.

<'Gotcha! Muin, you sure you wanna add this crybaby to our team?'>

<'I'm not a crybaby!'> Despite its protest, the Sewaddle does sound like it's about to cry, no matter how offended it may be. Yet, it still looks up at Muin when the tall Gardener approaches, having no fear in addressing him. <'You want to catch me? Fine, you can do that, but don't hurt me!'>

Muin sighs, watching the worm below while deep in thought.

"Hmm... A Sewaddle's leaves resemble those of mulberry trees, but mulberry was imported, so there's no Ogham word for it..." He muses, yet soon he meets the Pokémon's gaze with those cold amethyst eyes of his — as stoic as can be. "I will call you Straif, after the blackthorn. It represents authority and control. I suggest you strive to achieve these qualities."

By this point, the Rowlet can no longer stop herself from laughing... nor can she keep quiet, for that matter.

<'Ha! Classic, Muin! Don't worry, little worm, you'll get used to it.'>

It's too late for the Sewaddle to back down, after all.