A/N: Sorry for another long hiatus! Exams are over, so that will provide me with a little more time to write. This chapter is a bit shorter than most of them, but I hope those of you who are still reading enjoy it regardless.

The king's cheese is half wasted in pairings; but no matter, 'tis made of the people's milk.

-Benjamin Franklin

That evening, soon after the sun had run its shallow course along the horizon and hidden from the growth of winter night, Groose met Link outside the shop, both equipped with sword and cloak. The last of the fireplaces were being extinguished around the village, giving the normally golden glow of their settlement a rather cold and bitter feel beneath the silver glare of the waning moon and the gentle burn of Link's oil lantern.

They had met silently, under the guise of night, Link explained tersely, because any open investigation about the village would cause an uproar, panic, or both. The idea of sneaking about abandoned houses and making unabashed accusations and conspiracies was—admittedly—enticing to Groose, but a village on edge was already more than they could handle.

"I want to look at Karane's house first," Link described his intentions as they walked together in matched stride, "Karane isn't someone who would just run off, so I think there might be something of interest at her house."

Groose looked at him in surprise, "Isn't that a little invasive?"

Link shrugged, "We do what we must, I suppose. She won't be in there, obviously. If I've learned anything, it's that the ends sometimes justify the means, Groose."

"Really?"

"Yep," Link said forlornly, "And after we go there, we ought to check out Rupin's old shop. No one's been in there since he left."

"Not the forest?" Groose prompted. They stopped just before Karane's door, their voices dropping to a whisper so as to not wake the occupants of the neighboring houses.

"I know I told you we would, but I have an inclination that we'll find something here." He gave the doorknob a jostle, "It's locked."

Groose stepped back and inspected the house and Link joined him thoughtfully. Like an odd couple, they stood in silence for a moment, contemplating the means by which they would enter the house. Groose's thoughts drifted from their task to Link who, out of the corner of his vision, was quietly eyeing the house, one of his hands propped against his chin contemplatively.

For a hero, Link sure was mild in his demeanor. His hushed consideration put Groose off, in a way, as someone who needed to talk through ideas before they came to fruition. Link thought, then acted. And sometimes, he just acted.

"I heard Cawlin quit his job," Link said suddenly, throwing Groose off guard.

Hesitating, Groose involuntarily glanced at his feet, "Yeah, he did. He was pissed that I hired Luv." He shook his head undetectably and met Link's interested gaze, "But, to be honest, Cawlin and I are pretty different sometimes."

"And Strich is the middle ground?" Link prompted.

Groose stared at him incredulously, irked, "How should I know?"

Dropping the subject with a shrug of his shoulders, Link started towards the side of the house, and Groose followed obediently.

Link gripped the base of the window and heaved upward, but to no avail; it did not budge. He gave another push, but the window, which Gondo had designed to open when pushed up, was sealed.

"Let me try," Groose insisted, shoving Link to the side. But to his partial humiliation, the window did not accommodate him either. As it could evidently not be opened with force, Groose surrendered.

"I remember Gaepora mentioning to Cawlin that he was considering putting locks on the windows, but I thought he never got around to it," Running a hand through his hair, Groose began pacing dubiously. "We might have to just break it."

Sighing resoundingly, Link wiped the dust and cobwebs off of his hands, "It'd probably be best not to break down the door or the window. It's still her house."

"But she's been gone for a month," Groose pressed, "Link, if you really think there's something valuable in there, then it doesn't matter how we get inside."

"You have a point, Groose. We can always rebuild doors and replace broken glass. Well?" He gestured offhandedly at the window, "What'll it be? Window or door?"

"The window, though easier to break, would make a lot of noise," Groose ventured, "But I'm a lot bigger than you. I bet I could get the door open if I could yank it off of the lock."

"Be my guest."

Groose was inclined to believe that Link was also capable of pulling off the door, but he accepted nonetheless and took hold of the doorknob, propped his foot against the bottom of the house for support, and gave a powerful yank. The splintering of wood was heard from within the house, evidence that the sliding lock was bending. It was a good thing they hadn't invested in metal locks, or the task would have been far more difficult.

Link nodded in approval, "Try again."

With the second attempt, Groose wrenched the door open with the lurching groan and snap of wood as the feeble bolt behind the door splintered in half, letting the door swing limply open. Impressed with his own handiwork, Groose gestured for Link to enter first before following him closely behind.

Karane's house was as much as he had expected: despite the colorless and angular silhouettes of shadows, the main room was well kept and organized with no signs of destruction. Everything, however, reeked heavily of dust. Groose was astonished that no one had yet entered to investigate.

Link lifted the lantern to eye level and surveyed the room carefully. A wooden chair stood in solitude in the corner, as if patiently awaiting use. Across the floor there was nothing out of place- only a woven rug upon which the legs of a table stood. The counters were impeccably—if not eerily—empty.

"Look at this," Shining the lantern over the floor, Link nudged Groose for his attention. "There're footsteps in the dust."

Squinting, Groose saw them. It was difficult to distinguish among the poor lighting, but they were clearly there- medium-sized, booted, and…

"They're new."

Silently thrilled, hearts thrumming anxiously, Link and Groose followed the footsteps across the room carefully until they halted at the door to Karane's bedroom.

Throwing a hesitant and somewhat apologetic glance at Link, Groose turned the knob with painstaking caution and pushed the door open, creaking loudly in the resolute silence.

"Who's there?" A familiar voice, shaking and fearful, broke the silence and Groose nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Pipit?" Link scoffed in disbelief, "What are you doing here?"

From the shadows, Pipit emerged, albeit defensively. He was still clad in his day clothes, eyes sunken in with fatigue, as they seemingly had been so since Karane had gone missing. His eyes darted briefly and anxiously to Groose before settling back on Link, "You broke down the door! I think I can be the first to ask why you're here! You can't just break into people's homes!"

Groose raised an eyebrow, "But this isn't your house, either."

"I sleep here, all right?" Pipit admitted dejectedly, "Karane's been gone for a month and she's probably as good as…" His voice cracked, "I'm tired of just hoping that she'll come back some day, alive. So I sleep here, hoping that she'll return."

Groose's expression fell with a poorly hidden veneer of guilt, "We're trying to find clues about Karane's whereabouts."

Temper rising once again, Pipit stood at his full height, "Good luck with that. It's probably too late, anyway. And if anyone one would know anything, it would be me."

"Do you?" Unlike Groose, Link's voice was brimming with sympathy.

"Not hardly," Pipit shook his head and collapsed into a nearby chair, "Karane is a really clean person. If there was anything left behind, it would've been something that she left."

Exhaling with frustration, Groose admired the dark room. "You know, Pipit. It's possible she just left. Sometimes people get that way. They get a sort of calling, and they know it's time for them to leave. Maybe we're not supposed to find her."

Pipit glared at him loathsomely, "If you knew anything about Karane—anything, Groose—then you would know she would never leave us, and she would never leave me. She's loyal and she's brave. She doesn't get callings."

Groose was going to explain to Pipit that 'girls are mysterious beings and you can't always understand what they do' but he was interrupted by Link.

"Look at this, Groose," Link nudged him, then gestured with his lantern to a small square of paper lodged between the floorboard and the wall. Without the lantern and a scrutinizing eye, no one would have ever seen it. It was a fleeting sight and nearly impossible to see even in the lantern light, but the three of them could certainly see it.

"How do you notice these things?" Groose asked Link rhetorically, then bent down to retrieve the paper.

Examining the paper, he turned it over, the other side equally as blank as the first, with the exception of a stroke of ink. Not a dot, but a stroke of blue, as if the end of a word. The paper had been clearly torn from a larger piece. Link raised the lantern wordlessly as they examined it closer.

"What?" Pipit implored fretfully, "What is it?"

Groose stroked his chin thoughtfully, "It looks like something was written…"

"Well, that could be anything," Pipit yanked it out of Groose's hands. At first, he eyed it skeptically, but a moment later, his face contorted into concerned realization. Groose found that if the three of them were better communicators, much of this tension could be relieved.

"Karane doesn't use blue ink."

Groose quickly reobtained the paper, "Are you sure?"

"Why would she? There's a limited supply of black ink as it is, and she's not a writer of any sort, so I highly doubt she'd have blue ink."

"Well, then, who would have blue ink?" Groose passed the paper finally to Link, who examined it like a jeweler appraising his gems.

"We need to go to Rupin's shop. Now. I think we're on to something," Link decided. He pocketed the paper and turned to Pipit. "Do you want to come?"

"No, I'd rather stay here."

Link accepted with a slight nod, and he and Groose left Karane's house post haste. Together, they strode swiftly but silently with the urgency of a bird's fretful wing beat.

"Rupin used blue ink for labeling his products," Link remembered as they crossed the village center, "Do you think it's possible he still lives in his shop?"

"I don't know how he'd manage that, but if he's behind this, I'll kick his smarmy ass into next year." Groose yanked at the doorknob to Rupin's old shop, which was thankfully unlocked and accordingly deserted within.

Like Karane's house, there was a fine layer of abandoned and suffocating dust on all surfaces, reflecting about a thick and persistent ringing in the shop. However, while Karane's house had been clean, the shop appeared… kept, as if the building had not been randomly vacated, but rather done so systematically, slowly and carefully siphoned out of their village.

Instinctively, Groose made a beeline for Rupin's desk in the far right hand corner of the shop and opened the drawers rather noisily. Link motioned for him to act more silently, but Groose hardly paid him any regard. Rummaging through each drawer, all of which had been conspicuously stuffed with various old and crumpled papers that he tossed indifferently behind him, Groose dug into the deepest drawer.

His hand suddenly met with something paper, but far more solid and substantial than scraps. Though the darkness provided a convenient shield for whatever he had removed, and angled movement of the lantern revealed to both of them a stack of envelopes, bound by string, the top one boasting in a blue scrawl the name of Orielle.

"What on Earth?"

"Groose, we need to take these to Gaepora-"

Their attentions were diverted elsewhere when, from the edge of the village, there came a loud crash—of fallen furniture and smashing glass—followed by an night-breaking and familiar cry, one of pure panic.

Link and Groose scrambled reflexively for the door. Groose disregarded the envelopes on the floor and broke free into the roaring night where villagers had left their homes in the commotion and hummed a chorus of frightened murmurs and disturbed whispers.

To Groose's horror, the villagers gathered in a half moon around Fledge's house, their gazes fixated on the ground. Shoving past Bertie, Link at his heels, Groose stopped just short of a pile of glass shards, clearly splintered from Fledge's window.

"Has anyone seen Fledge?" Link cried. When no one answered, Groose tore a lantern from someone's lax grip and barged into the house through the open front door. Everything was remarkably normal and livable, except…

"Oh, gods," Groose breathed, "Link! Come here!"

Link arrived, accompanied by Zelda—who had also awoken to the sound of breaking glass—and both fell breathless in horror.

"There's blood," Groose managed, and it was true—it wasn't much, but it was there, in the form of several fresh, rose-colored splotches on the floorboards.

"What's this?" Groose turned to Zelda as she lifted something from the floor. An envelope.

"His name's on it," Zelda said with turbulent curiosity, "How odd. There's nothing inside of it, though."

"Groose, give me the envelopes," Link ordered.

Groose palmed about his pockets, panic rising in his gut when no such object materialized. "I must have dropped them," He admitted with dread, "When we heard all that commotion, I must have dropped them in Rupin's shop."

"Were you two sneaking around?" Zelda interjected, "It's nearly midnight, what were you—"

"We'll explain later," Link promised, then turned his attention towards Groose, "Well? Go get the letters! This could tell us what's going on!"

Groose nodded in affirmation, dashing out of the house and pushing his way through the crowd wordlessly. He entered Rupin's old store, but when he surveyed the musty, spacious room, the stack did not rest on the floor where he had likely dropped it. He tore open the desk in the possibility that he had mistakenly replaced them there, but to no avail. The shop was devoid of the stack of letters.

Yet here he was, on the Surface world, in Hyrule, where the bargain of moving to a lush, new world had been soiled by an act so terrifying and cruel as violence and perhaps kidnapping. And the man who had once owned them through their food and goods now possibly owned them in another way. The act was too close to be a mere coincidence—Rupin was here, or maybe not, but either way, his presence was here and somehow, he was related to the letters, Karane, and the now missing and possibly injured Fledge.