This is a novelization of Twilight Princess, which is my most favorite game of all time. I only hope I can do justice to such a spectacular game of a wonderful series. The Legend of Zelda obviously belongs to Nintendo. Without them I would never have been inspired to write this.

Ith How the World Crumbles - by Pseudo Twili

Chapter 1: A Tale Long Past

"Long ago, when my great-great-great-grandmother was a little girl, there came to this village a warrior who asked for shelter for the night. You know it is our custom never to turn away someone in need and my great-great-grandmother's parents and the others let him stay in that abandoned house at the edge of town. He went out and shot some rabbits, which he then cooked for his supper. My great-grandmother smelled the meat as it sizzled over the fire and she went closer. She was afraid to go much nearer, but she was also very curious. Then the warrior saw her looking at him from her place behind a tree and she nearly ran away, but he beckoned to her. What would you children have done in her place?"

"I'd offer him my mummy's soup!"

"I'd've run away fast as I could! No offense to Mr. Rusl, but guys with big swords scare me!"

"Hmm… I dunno know what I'd do. Was he dangerous?"

"My mother told me never to speak to strangers, so I wouldn't have gone near him."

"I think… I would have liked to talk to him."

"Ahahaha! Well, my grandmother was more afraid of displeasing him than anything else, so she drew nearer and got an eyeful. He was very good-looking, but she felt sorry for him because he looked so tired, as if he had all the burdens of the world resting on his shoulders. One eye was covered with a patch; there were streaks of gray in his hair and wrinkles of worry in his face that did not belong on a man as young as he.

"'Why do you stare at me so?' he asked sadly. 'Does my face scare you?'

"'No,' she replied. 'I think it is a very kind face. You look as though you've helped a lot of people and you're very tired because you've been so busy.'

"And what do you suppose happened then?"

The children didn't know; some of them were afraid of how the story was turning out and didn't dare make a guess. They fixed their storyteller with the intensely wide eyes of enchantment.

"Was he glad to have someone understand him?" asked one voice, very quietly.

"That's right. The warrior's face softened so much that my great-great-grandmother thought he was going to cry. Only one tear sparkled in the corner of his eye as he invited her to sit with him. He gave her a bit of meat, which she found to be delicious, told her lighthearted stories of his travels and adventures, and even made her giggle. She was very sorry when she heard her mother calling her, for she had grown to like the strange man.

"She pouted and said, 'Will I see you again?'

"'I do not know. Fate may decree that our paths cross once again, or it may have other things in store for us. Even if we do not, I will always remember you as the little girl who saw through me to my sorry old heart.' And before she ran away to her home, he gave her a silver rupee and told her to cherish its worth."

"A silver rupee?! Wow! I wish I had one of those!"

"That was a pretty story! Did she ever see him again, Granny?"

"She did not. My great-great-great-great-grandmother waited expectantly for years and years, hoping that he would come back, but he never did."

"So, what did she do with the rupee?"

"She cherished it for years and though she vowed never to spend it, she eventually gave in when not only her own family, but the whole village was going through a very tough year. That rupee kept them from starving. Always after that she felt that somehow he had known of their future difficulty and had given it to her for just that purpose."

"I still don't understand why she talked to him at all. If it were me, I would have been too scared to go near someone with one eye!"

A new voice interrupted before any more discussion could break out; it belonged to a tall, big-boned woman whose manner was really gentler that she looked. "Come now, children, time to let Granny get some rest! Off with ya'll now!"

She shooed them toward the door; though the young ones wanted very much to hear another story, they didn't dare disobey Fado's mother, and they scuttled. The old lady, however, lifted her finger and beckoned one boy with shaggy, golden-brown hair that stuck out thickly and untidily all over his head.

"Yes, Granny?" he murmured as he drew near.

"You liked that story didn't you, Link?"

The five-year-old nodded and looked at her with such a serious expression written on his face that he didn't seem quite his age.

"I knew you did. I could see the interest shining in your eyes. You guessed very well, too. Come back again and I will tell you more stories, my lad."

"I will, Granny."

"You'd better go out and play now, before Omelie finds you are still here."

The little, white-haired lady leaned back in her crude rocker and closed her eyes while Link made all haste for the door. He breathed a little sigh of relief that Fado's mom hadn't caught him going out, and joined the other children. Ilia was riding her imaginary mount and all the while trying to convince Fado that it wasn't a log his dad had left in the yard with the intention of splitting, but a fine white horse who would take her anywhere she wanted. The cousins, Gilda and Hyram, were bickering over whether or not Hyram splashed mud on Gilda's fresh white shirt. He really had done it, but he liked teasing his 'girly cousin' and always made fun of her for being so stuck up. Her usual reply was that she had been to the city and she knew how to behave.

At eight years old, Hyram was the eldest of the children of Ordon Village. He always started out the day in clothes as neat as his cousin's, but work and play always reversed their state by sunset. He had dark, curly brown locks, wicked eyes the color of slate, a long sort of nose and thin lips, and though he was about average size, he liked to show off the slightly formed muscles in his arms. He was fairly well-behaved when the adults were around, and was old enough to help out with the crops, he had a distinctive propensity for lording his lofty age over the others. He seemed to think that everyone else was little better than babies and often let them know it. This attitude was sadly not helped by his parents and some of the other adults, who were always telling him to set a good example for the younger ones, seemingly because they didn't know any better.

As Link approached, the older boy left his cousin alone for the time and sauntered over. "Hey, Link!" he said, with an expression halfway between a scowl and sly grin. "What took you so long? Did Granny say something to you? You're not going to be selfish and keep it to yourself, are you?!"

The small child's eyes had been wandering on the distant hills and fields around the village; only reluctantly did he bring them back to fix Hyram in a gaze as blue and deep as summer skies. Somehow, the seriousness of those eyes nearly always unnerved the eight-year-old.

"She has lots of stories to tell us. She wants us to keep coming back for more," he replied and he couldn't keep the slight trace of a smile from creeping to his lips.

Try as he might, Hyram could never get a satisfactory rise out the younger boy; his childish teases slipped off Link rather like water from a duck's back. It drove him to distraction that Link seemed to know how immature he actually was and didn't think him important enough to give a satisfactory answer to his silly little taunts, which only made him try harder to irritate.

"Say, you don't really believe that story about the guy with the sword, do you?!" he demanded.

"Of courthe I do."

"Heh!" Hyram chortled. "It's just a fairy tale for impressionable,"—he used the big word with relish even though he knew not what it meant—"lithping little kids. She kept changing which great grandmother it happened to. I don't think it's true at all."

"But it IS true," Link retorted rather quietly, pronouncing the word very carefully. "Granny wouldn't lie."

When he was younger and still learning to talk, Link spoke with a bit of a lisp that the adults seemed to think was adorable. He'd grown out of it to a certain degree, but he still had the tendency to break out in the little impediment, much to his everlasting embarrassment. As young as he was, he was determined to break himself of the habit and when he confided in Granny she told him just what to do. He would often hide himself in a little corner with one of the few hand mirrors in the village and look at his mouth while practicing the words that gave him so much trouble. He tried not to let the others know how much it bothered him but he never quite succeeded in that endeavor.

"Are you saying Granny was lying?!" exclaimed seven-year-old Gilda, who had been bending one ear toward them and now drew daintily nearer her cousin.

The oldest child then realized he had stepped too far. They all knew better than to disrespect their elders, especially one as ancient as Fado's great grandmother; a misdemeanor such as that would be punished with a much dreaded spanking.

"No! No, I didn't say that!" cried he, backpedaling furiously.

But Gilda had him on the spot and so rarely did that occur that she would not let him go easily. "You said it wasn't true, Hy! That means you think she was lying! Or are you lying now? You're the liar! Liar, liar—"

"I am not! That's not what I meant! I only thought—" he glared at her and looked quite disagreeable. "It was hard to believe, okay?"

Because he did not wish to take part in the argument any more than he had, Link was very glad to slip away from the duo and to go over to the other two children. Ilia was still riding away on her imaginary mount, while Fado had been nervously casting looks over at the confrontation.

"Do you want to go look at the empty house?" the little boy asked, mostly because he was greatly intrigued by it after the story, and partly because he wished for distance between him and the squabbling.

"Ooh, yes!" cried the four-year-old and propelled herself from the huge log.

Because Link was standing so near, they both ended up in a heap, from which Fado helped them up good-naturedly. He was still some months away from being six years old but was nearly as big as Hyram; he was just a simple boy who preferred to follow where others led.

"You okay, Ilia?" he drawled. "You should be more careful…"

"I'm fine!" she declared. "C'mon!"

Without bothering to fix her mussed hair, she grabbed Link's hand and started to run on plump little legs for the clearing on the border of the village and the abandoned house that had stood there for what seemed an eternity, judging by its appearance. He stumbled a couple of times, but he didn't seem to mind being dragged along as he scrambled smilingly after her.

None of the children had paid especial attention to the unused house because there was no readily available way to enter it. It had apparently been hollowed out from a very huge tree; though not very tall it still exuded green leaves and growth in quite a few places. The extremely deteriorated door, barred with many slats of wood, was a good dozen feet off the ground, situated at a strange little shelf that the tree had created. If they craned their necks upward, they could see a bit of sloping roof from which most of the faded shingles had fallen, and a small aperture that, had it not been boarded up, might have provided them with a very slim look at the interior.

The three little ones stared at it with renewed interest. "Can we get inside?" Ilia asked excitedly, pulling again at her friend's hand. "I want to see the inside!"

Link wanted that very much, too; he was very curious to find out if there was anything in there that would absolutely prove the existence of that long-ago visitor. The problem was rather serious for a five year old to find a solution.

"C'mon, Link," she begged, forgetting what her mother told her about saying 'please'. "I want to see it!"

Both young boys tried as hard as they could to make her wish come true. Fado leaned against the tree trunk base of the house, while Link mounted a large stone nearby and tried to climb on his sturdy friend's shoulders. Even when he stretched as much as he could and made a little jump, his small fingers where still feet from the ledge. Ilia cheered them on impatiently.

"What are you kids doing?!" came another voice, also belonging to a child.

Fado was so startled that he lost his balance, and Link naturally tumbled down on top of him. The boy with golden-brown hair ignored the newcomer as he picked himself up and seriously contemplated the problem before him. If they could only bring a ladder over… But a ladder would be heavy. They would never be able to carry it and what would the adults say if they saw them taking an item like that?

Annoyed at being ignored, Hyram repeated himself, "I said: 'What are you doing?'!"

Unable to contain her excitement, Ilia trotted closer and piped up, "We gonna get into the house!"

"Heh! You can't get in there! Can't you see the door's shut up tighter than my dad's cupboard?"

The little girl stuck out her tongue, turned her back on the older child and returned to the younger boys. "Isn't there some way to get in?" she pleaded.

"Hmm…?" was all a deeply concentrating Link replied.

"You guys are dumb. That door is way higher than you can reach," said Hyram, very unhelpfully. He grinned as he watched them.

Link suddenly turned his gaze around. "You could help us. Don't you want to see the inside of the house, too?"

"Nah, why should I? It's nothing but an empty house. I bet it's really moldy and dusty inside." Though he said one thing, the eight-year-old also harbored a secret desire to do just the opposite. Afraid that the others might guess it, he added, "I know it's really nasty and filled with spiders and cockroaches."

"How do you know?" cried little Ilia, bouncing back to him in a heartbeat. "Have you been in there?"

"Sure," Hyram lied. "One time I climbed up the tree 'cause I was chasing a squirrel. I found the board at the window up there was loose and I crawled in. I found something inside, too. Do you want to know what it was?"

Ilia nodded exuberantly and the oldest boy could tell that Link was listening with a cock of his pointed ear.

"Nah, I don't think I should tell you. You'd be scared!"

The small girl grabbed his arm. "Tell me! Tell me!"

"Okay, fine. What I found inside was a skeleton. Its arm was reaching for the door like it was trying to get out. Well, Link, that's probably what happened to your warrior. They locked him up in the house and left him to die!"

She cried, "Noo! Nooo!" and immediately began bawling.

Link was by her side in a heartbeat; he rubbed her back and soothed her gently. "Don't cry, Ilie! Ith not true anyway."

"It… It…isn't?" gasped she, gulping down a sob.

"It is too true!" exclaimed Hyram, indignant that the younger boy had seen through his story and also a bit worried that he'd made Ilia cry.

The five-year-old formed his words very carefully as he reassured his friend. "He just made it up because he was trying to scare us. There's nothing in there, except maybe thpiders."

Hyram looked very much like he wanted to slap him, and probably would have if a distraction, in the form of his cousin, came along as the smaller girl was wiping away her tears.

"Your mothers told me to tell you it's suppertime," said neat-as-a-pin Gilda, who had changed her shirt. She stood staring at the others, whose clothes and skin were rather dusty. "You'd better come right away because everyone is w—ah!"

She finished with a squeak, as her cousin had picked up a handful of dust and held it like he was going to pitch it in her direction; without wasting another moment, she turned tail and speedily, yet somehow gracefully hurried back to the heart of the village. Hyram threw down his handful of dirt with a sneer of disgust and stamped after her.

During spring, summer and fall, it was the customary habit that the ladies would prepare one huge meal and everyone would eat together under the sky, unless rain was falling, in which case they would crowd into one or more of the simple, rather crude little homes. The events were usually noisy, for this was a time to discuss the day and what needed doing on the morrow, and to enjoy the victuals, which were simple, but all the same quite wholesome and delicious. Even Granny, who was ninety-eight, refused to "miss out on all the fun"; she would always hobble from the house and sit in a place of honor by the fire, surrounded by beloved family and dear friends.

On this evening, as she sometimes did, she beckoned to Link to come and sit next to her; he trotted over, holding onto his bowl, trying unsuccessfully not to spill its delectable contents, and plopped down next to her.

"So what did you do after I told you that story this afternoon?" she asked him, fixing him with her perceptive old eyes.

"We went over to the houthe and Fado and I tried to get in," the boy replied, between inhaling a bite of stew.

"It's 'house', dearie."

He hadn't realized what he was saying and it caused him to blush. He repeated the word very carefully. "House. House. House. House."

"Very good. Now, what else did you do? I heard arguing in the yard. Was Hyram hassling you again?"

"Not really—" Slurp! "—he said the story you told us wathn't true because you were saying different numbers of great for your grandmother."

"That boy likes the sound of his voice too much for his own good! He'd say anything to get a rise out of a demon, just to get attention. What did you say to him?"

"I told him it is true. It is, isn't it, Granny?"

"It is, my dear boy. Truth is, I don't remember how many greats of a grandmother she was, but it really happened a long, long time ago."

Link beamed with soup dripping from his chin. He knew he'd been right but there had been a little worry tickling at the recesses of his mind. "Can you tell me another story?" he begged, and if his eyes had been brown instead of blue they would have looked just like those of the adorable village puppies when they were most beseeching.

"If I tell you one another one now, won't the other children be sorry that they missed out on it?"

The little boy with the brown-gold hair thought very carefully for a number of seconds before he made reply. "You could tell me now and again with the others. I love your stories, Granny! I like to hear them more than once!"

"Ohoho!" the old lady chuckled deep in her throat. "You know how to get to this ol' granny's heart! Very well! I will tell you of the adventure that my late husband—that would be your great-grandfather—and I had for those few years that we traveled. We were just coming into Hyrule Town when a man came running up to us and asked, 'Have you seen my boot?!' Just like that! 'Have you seen my boot?!' As if one could lose track of a boot as one would a child or a cat!"

Link laughed so hard throughout the story that he choked on his food and went into a coughing fit. Granny thumped him, albeit feebly, on the back and told him to take smaller bites. His problem was only compounded because he still couldn't stop giggling.

After supper was over and everyone was about to retire to their homes and go to bed, Hyram found Link alone, poking the embers of the big cooking fire with a stick.

"Hey!" said the older boy; he would have shouted, but he did not want to attract attention and it was right about bedtime for children especially. "What were you telling Granny during supper?!"

"Why?"

"Just tell me what you said!" Hyram hissed hurriedly.

"She asked me about what we did after we left her. You know what we did."

"But what did you tell her? Did you tell her what I said to Ilia?"

Link stiffened. "No. Why would I?"

"Good. Let's just keep it that way."

The older child grinned and sauntered away, a satisfied smirk upon his face. With a shrug, the young one went back to pleasurably poking the fire until his aunt Emeline called him.

"It's time for bed, Link!" she called cheerily and scooped up her giggling little daughter.

"But I'm not thleepy. I don't want to go to bed!"

Bo, the newly-made mayor of the village, was also headed inside. "Lad, you heard your aunt," he said, warningly.

The child gave the fire a couple more pokes and reluctantly followed them to the house. Before half an hour had passed, the lights peeking through somewhat shuttered windows were extinguished and calm blanketed the little village. The last thought of the little boy with golden-brown hair was, I'm going to get into that house tomorrow…

~O~

Until he was well past his second birthday, Link had stayed with any of the women who could wet-nurse him, until he finally stopped nursing at age two and a half. When he was three, the adults put it to him to decide with whom he wanted to live. All the villagers loved him and would have welcomed him quite gladly into their homes; the small boy reciprocated these feelings and was very indecisive in the matter. In his very young, childish little heart, he felt that if he just chose one family the others would feel hurt and he could not bear the thought. He moped around the rest of the day, trying to make up his mind and being unable to do so.

Granny said to him, "What do you want, Link? Just listen to your heart, my laddie. Who would you like to live with?"

The small boy was very, very quiet and appeared more thoughtful than a child his age could. Just a little while later, when the adults asked him for his reply, he said, "Uncle Ruthl, can I live with everyone?"

Chuckles and giggles floated through the air, and everyone was taken aback, except perhaps Granny, but they were all quite pleased with the development. Link fell to dreaming that night with a blissful smile on his face; he knew he'd made the right choice. From then on, about every month or so, he would take up quarters with another family and he came to know each household of Ordon Village quite well; he could no more have picked a favorite from along them than he could have selected a favorite spot in the hills or a tree he thought prettier than the others.

As he grew a bit older, he came to the realization, no doubt aided by Hyram, that he owed the villagers in excess for having taken him to their hearts and showing him such love. He was determined to repay them for their manifold kindnesses by offering to help whenever and with whatever he could. In the spring before he reached his sixth year, he noted with interest that three of the men were harrowing up the ground to be used for the huge pumpkin patch that they grew annually. A thought popped into his head which caused him to smile. He scurried to his aunt, who was rather absently scrubbing a basket of laundry and watching her little son, Ruben, as he toddled about and put into his mouth everything that found itself in his chubby hands.

"Aunt Uli!" he cried. "Uncle Rusl and Uncle Jaggle and Uncle Bo are clearing up the pumpkin patch. Can I plant the seeds? Can I? I want to help!"

"Oh, Link! Would you take that pebble away from Ruben? He mustn't eat it!"

This he did with celerity. The baby started to cry when he pried the small stone from his fingers, but Link knew just what to do. "This will be much nicer, Ruben," said the five-year-old, giving him a radish by way of rectification. "You can gnaw on this and it won't break your teeth!"

He turned back to Uli and pleaded, "I want to help plant the pumpkins. Can I, Aunt?"

She smiled softly at him. "I don't see why not, Link dear. Why don't you go ask your uncles?"

Several moments later, the small boy was picking his way through the turned soil. "Uncle Rusl! Uncle Bo!" he cried. "Can I plant the pumpkins? I want to plant them."

The men cast looks at each other. "I don't think it would do any harm," said the dirty-blonde blacksmith swordsman. "He really does want to help out."

"Hey, whatever he can do will be a load off my back," Jaggle agreed.

"Well, then," said the mayor as he turned back to the small boy. "You may have this task, Link, but you must listen to our instructions and plant the seeds as we tell you. Can you do that, lad?"

The child grinned so broadly that his cheeks looked as though they'd be hurting, and he nodded earnestly. "What do I do? I want to help."

He had gotten the idea in his head that he wanted to plant the entire pumpkin patch; it was truly an immense project, as the villagers stored many for use during the winter and exported a great deal more to Castle Town and other settlements. The child felt much pride that people would be eating pumpkins that he sowed and he was rather tickled pink at the idea.

When the men learned of his decision, they muttered aside to themselves, "We will see if he can go through with it," and were each interested to see how far his determination would carry him.

Link spent the rest of that day pushing the easy-to-handle seeds in little mounds that Jaggle taught him to make. His uncles showed him how each mound had to be separated from the others by a good fifteen feet, so as to allow the plants plenty of space to grow. They made slight furrows in the ground so as to enable him to plant in a straight line and then left him to his task. Some of the adults would come close to take peeks at him and smile, at least inwardly, at the sight of the small boy working so hard. He kept steadily on, planting seed after seed in mound after mound, row after row.

Fado's dad, a huge man by the name of Juble, arrived back after his own work with the village's goat herd and as serious a man as he was, he grinned to hear of Link's involvement with the village's livelihood. He marched over to the little boy and boomed out, "So, you've decided to help out, eh?!"

"Y-Yes, uncle."

"You keep workin' hard now, you hear me?"

Link nodded and began to pick up the seeds that he'd dropped. The planting was hard work for a young thing like him who hadn't done anything like it before, and as much as he would have liked to stop and play with Ilia and the little ones, he was determined to succeed at the monumental task he'd undertaken. His aunts made sure that he had more than adequate a supply of water as he toiled under the warm, late-spring sun; plump, motherly Sera, carrying her brand-new baby against her breast, brought him a small plate of cookies and watched while he munched large bites from them and washed them down with fresh goat's milk.

Followed by her marmalade kitten, Ilia trotted up to him and leaned curiously over the mound into which her friend was currently hiding the orange-brown seeds. "Don'tcha want to come play, Link?" she asked, little hands on her hips and her head titled at an inquisitive angle.

There was nothing quite so tempting at that moment to the five-year-old than doing just that. "I… I can't, Ilie. This is really important work." He was finding that the labor of planting was more than he had expected, but could not bear to give in to his weaker nature; that would mean admitting defeat before Hyram and he simply wouldn't do that.

"But why? It'd be more fun if you came over to play." She stood, wiggling her bare toes in the delightfully soft soil.

He sat back on his little haunches and brushed the line of sweat from his brow. "But I have to," he said, after several moments of careful consideration. "I want everyone to know I can help." He spoke very quietly so that even the small girl could barely hear him.

Young as she was, Ilia didn't question him further; perhaps she couldn't understand the desire, but she knew her best friend had some strangely grown-up ideas. She went down on her knees next to him and asked in a way that was almost a command, "Can I help, too?"

A little smile flickered to his boyish lips and he cast a brief glance to her earnestly shining eyes. He demonstrated the planting technique he had learned and together they finished several rows. For a little while the younger child took pleasure in poking the almost tear-drop shaped seeds into the dark soil, but her attention span was much shorter than that of her friend; first she was distracted by her darling kitten when he pounced on a few leaves that had drifted their way, and then she stopped to chase a rabbit that poked its nose into the children's domain.

At suppertime Link was so tired that he hardly had the energy to chew his food. He actually fell asleep in front of the fire, still holding his nearly empty bowl; Hyram's dad, Kern, had to carry him to the house.

"That boy is a danged hard worker," he murmured aside to his wife, Neta. "He'll grow up to be a good farmer."

For the next two days, Link continued with his self-imposed task and Ilia joined him for a couple more short-lived stints. Finally, by twilight of the third day he finally planted the last mound. Wearing a proud, if weary smile, he scanned the ground which had seen his labor. It seemed as though Granny had known that he had finished, for she came hobbling along on her elaborate cane over the little distance toward him.

"Link…" she breathed. "You have done a marvelous job! Everyone is very proud of you, but none so much as I."

He blushed and shuffled one foot back and forth in the dirt. "I just wanted to help, Granny. And Ilie helped me. I think… I like to plant pumpkinth."

"You do, eh? You took on a big task, my lad, and you fulfilled it." She smiled and shook her head. "Ah, but enough of that. Are you thirsty? Let us go down to the house and you can get us both a cool drink."

The child lent her his little shoulder as they moved away from the site of his work, and despite being tired he hoped very much that he could persuade her to tell another story.

From then on, all the villagers referred to that area as Link's pumpkin patch. Hyram always said it with a sneer, as if it was a silly thing, but Link didn't care because he was proud of it and that was all that mattered. Anyway, the older boy was probably just jealous because he hadn't a pumpkin patch called after him. Ilia always took delight in pronouncing it whenever she had the chance, and she reminded everyone how she had helped him.

That year was the first of many in which they seemed to grow larger and tastier pumpkins than ever before; the rinds were so much more orange, the seeds very huge, and one taste of the rich flesh begged for another and another. Everyone attributed the success to the boy's very careful planting and his involvement in their care, much to his slight embarrassment and great pride. After the harvest that year, a couple of the men took a large shipment of the pumpkins to Castle Town, returning with quite a handsome sum for the sale thereof. The adults felt it quite fair that Link should receive a small share in the profit and it was the most substantial collection of money the child had possessed in his life. He knew not what he would do with it, but he gave a part of it to his Ilia.

~O~

From quite a young age, Link was very attached to the animals in and around the village. The animals who lived in the sparse woods the north were shy toward mostly everyone else, but when the little boy made friendly little sounds and held out a hand with crumbs, they would go right to him and eat from it without fear. Somehow, he was a very gentle sort of person who they knew they could trust unconditionally.

He was quite fond of "helping" Juble with the care of the village goats and from the big man of few words he learned much about the creatures. The goats were very special, as they had long ago been bred right there in Ordon Village for their blue hides, horns grown into an almost perfect circular pattern, and absolutely spectacular milk. They were gentle creatures, mostly content to graze the green pastures and to be petted by their favorite human, but like children they also had their ornery moments. Fado's dad was quite able to handle them because he was such a big, capable man, but when Link padded on little bare feet up the little hill to the ranch he had to warn the boy not to rub them the wrong way. Even though Link got along quite well with the animals, there were a few times that they came to be too rowdy, but Juble irritably plucked him from any serious harm.

When he was six, he formed a very special attachment to a young kid who could not nurse properly. The tender of goats hadn't the time to care a single frail baby when there were so many other tasks demanding his attention; the boy overheard Juble and Bo talking about it.

"…no hope for her. None of the other dams will nurse her."

"It's sad, but there is nothing to be done, I'm afraid. She would probably die anyway, bein' the runt."

Upon hearing that, Link rushed forward and implored, "Please let me take care of her. I could feed her. I don't want her to die! Please, please, Uncle Juble, Uncle Bo?"

The mayor turned to him and replied slowly. "Lad, you'll have to feed her every few hours until she gets big enough. You still have to do your other chores, too."

"I can do it, Uncle Bo. I can thave her!"

"You know that this will mean wakin' up for night feedings?" asked Juble, gruffly, as he tried to hide the smile that insisted on creeping to his thin lips.

Link nodded seriously. Already he was dreaming of running across the good brown earth and through golden-green fields with his very own pet by his side. After all, wouldn't she be his goat if he had permission to care for her? The others didn't actually belong to him, and even though he liked to play with them, it would be so wonderful to be able to call one his own!

"If you've no objections, Juble, I think we should let the boy have his way," Bo declared, after some serious moments of thought and watching Link closely.

The other man made a motion of acquiescence and headed for the ranch, the child scampering along after him. While Juble went about forming a nipple for the feeding bottle, Link pulled the small goat to his lap, cuddled her, and smoothed her fur. She seemed to like it but she kept bleating and gazing up at him with her adorable dark eyes, telling him how hungry she was. She was already so cute, with her short indigo hair and lightly mottled face; he was already beginning to imagine what she would look like with horns.

"What are you doing, boy?"

Link jerked his head up in midst of stroking the kid. "I-I'm getting ready to feed her," he stammered, suddenly nervous that he'd done something wrong.

"You still have to learn a lot. A doe doesn't sit with her kids in her lap; she stands while they suck the milk from her udder. This little girl isn't expecting something strange being forced into her mouth. You have to imitate the dam, like this."

The big man folded himself to a squatting position and held the bottle almost upside-down, with a great pearly drop of milk slowly forming at the hole he'd made in the somewhat crude nipple. Link got to his feet and tried to imitate his uncle, but he was less than half the size of the man; his tousled head was just above the kid's. Meanwhile, she drew nearer and found that the unknown object contained the nourishment she needed.

Finally, Juble put the bottle into Link's anxious fingers and told him, "You don't have to get down, boy. You're short enough that you can just bend over a bit."

The child did as instructed and in a matter of seconds he was in ecstasy as the baby began pulling at the bottle again and making little contented sounds as she did. He smiled slightly, his eyes shining with dreams of the future.

"Uncle Juble, can I ever feed her when she's in my lap?"

"Maybe when she is used to the bottle."

That night he was sleeping soundly next to Fado when a big hand descended upon him and shook his shoulder. "Link!" came a faraway voice. "Wake up, boy."

The path from the pleasant dreams of slumber back to the world was one that he traversed but reluctantly. His mind dulled with sleep, the child could not think what was happening as he blinked into the near darkness and propped himself up on an elbow.

"It's time to go feed that baby goat of yours," his uncle said in a tone that he seemed to be trying to make a whisper, but didn't quite succeed.

One large hand still rested on the boy's arm and the other held a mostly covered lantern. Link extricated himself from the sheets and stumbled after the huge man. His eyes were still half clouded with dreams but he adjusted quickly to the pale luminescence of the moon. Upon entering the barn he woke up further still when he noted how eagerly the kid came toward them. Juble had already showed him how to prepare a bottle and now the man supervised while he went over the process again, his fingers made clumsy by sleep.

The next day, the boy had trouble keeping with his chores. He was very absent-minded as he threw handfuls of food for the cuccos, and caught the eye of Emeline, who was the caretaker of the feathery creatures.

"Link, what is the matter? Why are you scattering around over twice the amount of lentils than the cuccos need?" she demanded, a mite irritated because she thought he was daydreaming again.

"I'm thorry, Aunt Emeline. I'll pick them up."

"No, don't do that. What is the matter with you? Your mind isn't on your chores today." She lifted his chin and noted the slightly dark appearance around his eyes. "Why, you're tired, aren't you Link?"

He nodded and yawned as if to illustrate the point.

"Well, you just keep going with your chores and make sure you pull the weeds, not our plants."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied and went off to join Hyram, Fado, Jaggle and Kern in the tiresome task of weeding, while the woman went to have a talk with her husband.

That evening, the boy received special permission from Bo to spend the next several nights in the barn near his little dependent. Link slumbered snugly in old blankets and hay and when the small kid was hungry she butted him with her little head.

"Huhmm?" he muttered, more asleep than awake.

"Meh-eh-eh!" she said. If she'd been human she'd have told him, "Feed me!" which is what the boy heard in her bleat.

His lap was half filled with hay and blanket as he arose and fumbled for the bottle; upon locating it more from touch than sight, held it toward her mouth. The boy's head began nodding as she sucked mightily; he actually began to doze off but she stopped him from so doing when she could no longer drink the milk.

Ilia was enchanted with the little darling and during the daytime feedings she was often on hand to watch or take part. "Let me do it, Link!" she cried, fixing him with eyes as green as the forest and just as bewitching.

The boy's favorite thing was to feed his beloved pet, but he could never refuse a reasonable request put to him, especially from Ilia. He surrendered the bottle to her and watched carefully as she fed the baby goat. The five-year-old giggled as the kid leaned forward and sucked greedily, making the darling, contented little noises that she always did when getting her belly full.

"What are you going to call her?" asked Ilia as she fondled the bundle of legs and fur.

The boy shrugged as he held out his fingers, allowing the tiny creature lick traces of milk from them. "I don't know. She's too young to know what she wants to be called."

His companion beamed. "How about Leaf?" she suggested.

Link turned the name carefully over in his mind. "I… I don't think so. It thounds like a name maybe for a boy goat."

She folded her arms, which told him she wasn't going to let the subject go. "Okay. How about Flower? Or Blossom? Stream? Wheat? Forest? Kitty?" she rattled on, the names of her favorite things slipping over her tongue. "…Acorn? Honey? Fern? What about Strawberry? Or—"

"Wait, Ilie, I like that one."

"Ooh, you do? Which one?"

"Fern." He turned to the kid who was basking in the attention. "It's a perfect name for you, girl. Do you like it?"

She pressed her hard little head firmly against the boy's chest and actually nodded, her adorable ears flapping. Link and Ilia exchanged glances and burst into a fit of giggles; her voice rang and echoed with childish innocence and reckless mirth, while his was somehow softer and no less subdued.

As summer ripened and then waned, Fern grew and flourished like the weeds that plagued the village crops. The boy was so proud when her horns started growing in; he measured them faithfully every week but was disappointed with how slowly they were progressing. She followed either child, but especially Link, wherever she could. No goats were allowed in the many garden plots or fields, which seemed a pity to the children, but couldn't be helped. The young creature was quite free to accompany the little humans to the forest outskirts where he played with his friends, something she loved to do because she would always find a nice green, nibbly sort of snack.

The days were beginning to show their age with cold that crept into the bones of the year; the leaves of the trees Ilia loved so much were making their last fling by showing the unaccustomed and varied colors of the sunset and the animals were bringing in the last of their hordes for the winter ahead of them. The villagers had reaped, plucked and gathered the fruits of their labors and now readied for their customary festival for a plenteous harvest. It was a special year because there were more children than before and some of them were already growing up; the adults wanted to commemorate the occasion with something special.

Late one autumnal afternoon, under chilly trees that interrupted the sun's rays, the children were playing in one of their favorite spots, a clearing just south of the spirit's spring. Ilia was making pretty arrangements in the dirt with leaves, needles, twigs, pebbles and any other debris she could find; she had convinced Link, Fado and Gilda to join her. To the project Link added his keen, artistic eye, Gilda her taste for finding the prettiest things and Fado shared many insightful, though simple, opinions. The girls were annoyed that the little ones, two-year-old Ruben and Fado's nineteen-month-old brother, Topel, tried to ruin their work by toddling through it; the children had to keep a constant eye out for them.

Meanwhile, the nearby Hyram distained the project and endeavored to cause as much trouble for them as possible by giving untoward and unwanted advice and criticism and by inciting the babies to trample their work. When he learned that his taunting fell on ears that would not listen he began to tease Fern; the latter darted about, took frequent bites from her namesake, and rammed the aggravating boy when he came to be too much.

"No, no, Ilia," said Gilda, a mite disdainfully. "You should put the flowers in the center of the tree. They look much nicer there."

"It won't," the younger girl retorted, but she tried it anyway. "No, I don't like it. They look better at the top of the tree. Don't you think so, Link?"

But that boy's head was turned away and his mind was on something else; his eyes were fixed on his pet, who was exhibiting some peculiar behavior. She shifted her small hooves very nervously and split the air with horns that were only just forming.

Link went over and put an arm over her back. "What's wrong, Fern?" he whispered. He simply couldn't imagine what was bothering her. Without warning, she suddenly took off in the direction of the village. An exclamation of surprise tore itself from his parted lips.

Ilia's attention had also been aroused and she rose to her dusty feet. "Link, what's wrong? Why did Fern run away like that?"

He did not reply, for he was already hurrying after his distressed pet. His best friend would have followed, except for a toddler who nearly ruined all their hard work by grabbing a handful of leaves from Ilia's best tree and was reaching for more. "Ruben, stop that!" she shouted, flicking his fat little hand.

Hyram sprinted alongside the smaller child on longer legs and cast some choice words in his direction. "Ha! Your goat is finally tired of you! She's finally wised up to what a loser you are!"

The seven-year-old boy finally came to an abrupt stop as he careened into one of the village ladies. "Slow down, Link!" Emeline cried. "What's got you so excited?"

"Fern!" he gasped. "She ran away… Where is she?"

Even before the last breathy word had escaped him, the child spotted his goat standing at the firmly shut door of one the outdoor sheds. He marched over to her and pulled her away with some difficulty.

"Why did you run away, Fern?" he demanded, as if he expected an answer.

His aunt approached him quickly and with a hint of urgency in her voice said, "Link, let's take her back to the barn. She's probably hungry."

The animal did not wish to comply; she balked as both Link and Emeline pulled her away from the door and ushered her into the large building that housed the goats. For once in her life she did not want the food that they offered her. The boy had the distinct impression that she was crying; he could not understand it and it made him sorry to see her so.

"She wanted to go inside the shed," he mumbled. Why would she be interested in it, though? He was determined to find out.

"Link, no! Don't go in there!" Emeline cried, too late.

He lifted the wooden latch, opened the heavy door and met a horrible sight that froze him to the spot. The three men in the room were stationed around a table in the center of the shed; upon that single piece of furniture was the partially de-skinned corpse of a goat. Both Juble and Rusl were working at cutting away the rest of the hide and Bo was tying some rope onto the legs for hanging. Blood was on their hands and smeared on the canvas aprons they wore. With the most awful feeling of dread squeezing his heart, the child could only stand and stare for several moments.

The mayor saw him first. "Link!"

"What are you doing in here?!" the blacksmith exclaimed, the small blade in his hands still between the animal's hide and flesh.

The boy's tanned little face was suddenly very white and his blue eyes blazed with fiery tears. "I hate you!" he shouted in a half strangled voice.

Finally finding that his legs would work after all, he turned and almost fell through the opening in the door. Emeline caught him in her arms, but he wrenched himself free desperately. He just wanted to get away and so he ran, pursued by agitated cries from several throats. He did not slow his momentum when Hyram stood in his way and sneered, "You're such a little wimp!"

Link collided solidly with the other boy, nearly knocking him down, and continued his frenzied dash away from the horrific scene. Nor did he give any answer to Ilia's high-pitched, concerned inquiries as he passed the other children; he crossed the bridge that spanned the great Ordon Gorge, without marveling as he usually did on how high he was. Bitter, burning tears fell from his eyes and half blinded him, causing the boy to stumble and trip many times as he careened deeper and deeper into the woods.

When at last he could run no more he collapsed, hyperventilating and sobbing excruciatingly. The boy buried his face in the soft soil of the forest floor in an attempt to purge the image that was ever present in his mind, but he could not blot out the empty-eyed stare of an animal that had been alive just an hour earlier and her blood that seemed to seep through his eyelids. As he thought of the butchering and the red-stained hands, he paid no attention to a stomach that was doing mad, churning flip-flops, until the contents of same ejected themselves.

Still sobbing uncontrollably, the child spat the vomit that lingered in his mouth and crawled away. He moaned, shivered, and clung to the pure bark of a birch tree. The dreadful memories were too fresh and would not leave him; they flashed repeatedly across his consciousness like the most gruesome of nightmares. The sun had since made its farewell, dark shadows were creeping toward him, and the forest had stilled with the coming of night, but the boy did not heed any of his surroundings. He weakly pummeled the tree to which he clung with filthy fists, and his tears mixed with the grime of face and clothes until he was quite a sorrowful sight. No words of coherency could be distinguished between the sounds of mournful weeping.

Darkness was full upon Link and he didn't care; it seemed as though his tears would never cease their flow. A twig snapped but he did not lift his head; several more similar noises followed and were growing ever closer. Had the creature that crept up to him been a wild animal it would have pounced upon him with no warning, but this thing had perhaps half a brain in its head.

It was a monster; its skin looked like one big bruise, its coarse, stringy white hair was plastered to its head with oily grime, it was barely clothed in an undistinguishable bit of leather, and it carried a very crude mace. It gave a hoarse cry as it jumped toward the boy, brandishing its weapon. Link's head flew up, his throat stopping with grief and sudden, heart-pounding fear. He had nothing with which to defend himself, not even a stick; he gave a little cry of despair and, expecting to be hit with the wicked club, threw his arms over his face.

Before the monster had the chance to raise fingers or weapon to harm the boy, Link heard a growl, the slight sickening sound of the tearing of flesh, and a little splash of liquid flew to his cheek and burned there, immediately followed by the noise of something heavy falling to the ground. Terror-stricken, he lowered himself still further and cringed, expecting pain momentarily. Nothing happened, and he slowly became aware of the magnified sounds of something breathing. He tried to think; had the monster sounded like that when it advanced upon him? His fear was lessened only slightly, but unable to contain his curiosity any longer, he opened his eyelids a crack and peeped out. He was so taken aback that he let his arms fall completely.

Calmly sitting just a few feet away was a huge golden wolf with a single, scarlet eye that looked beyond those of the child into his very soul. Its fur shone with an otherworldly light of its own and cast tiny pools of it to the ground around the creature. Its tail moved back and forth, as if to the rhythm of its ghostly breaths.

Though he had been terrified just seconds before, all that was left to Link was an awe-inspired sort of fear as he gazed, hardly without blinking, at the apparition before him. That solitary eye held him in its powerful gaze and from it he could not budge. Then the wolf turned his head, silently compelling the boy to do the same. Lying on the ground, surrounded by the stench of rotten blood, was the already decaying corpse of the monster, its throat clawed out. As he stared at the dark blood, a tremor of revulsion passing through him, suddenly reminding him of the reason for the tears that still stung at his eyes.

"Life comes not without death, child."

Suddenly the wolf was directly in front of him; the boy hadn't even heard him come close. The magnificent animal was considerably taller than him, but somehow Link could not summon any fear for himself, even with the creature's muzzle inches from his own face. It was a very peculiar thing that he could feel no breath issuing from the mouth in which he glimpsed many sharp, glowing white teeth. That same mouth opened, the teeth parted and showed a reddened tongue which descended upon him and licked his forehead.

Link stared and trembled with something akin to joy as a feeling of courageous warmth spread through him. The golden beast made an about-face and walked away on paws of velvet; after several paces he stopped and turned his head back to gaze at the boy. Link arose on unsteady legs and tripped forward to follow. Tentatively he put forth his hand and placed it on the shining fur which seemed only slightly warm, seemingly due to the light it emanated. The wolf turned his head again, though the child could only see the closed eye, and he began the journey through the woods.

The deep darkness of night, especially in a forest of strange sounds, is frightening to any youngster, as Link would have been if not for the glowing, radiant assurance of the otherworldly creature who led him. The forest and everything therein seemed to part for the beast as he padded as silently as a ghost; while the child's little feet continually caused disruptions of old leaves, twigs and other rotting material, the paws of the wolf appeared not even to touch the ground.

Meanwhile, Link's mind was filled with thoughts of the butchering of the goat, the dead monster, and the words the beast had spoken to him. It was all more than he could fully comprehend at the time, for his little limbs were shaking with cold and fatigue. He stumbled along, almost in a stupor, one hand at the side of his guide.

All at once he became aware of a voice calling his name. Within seconds, a man bearing aloft a lantern emerged from the darkness, like a ship through fog, and caught sight of him.

"Link!" the swordsman cried. He rushed forward, knelt to the boy's level and enveloped him in a crushing hug. Pulling back almost as quickly, he adopted a tone laced with both anger and concern, gripped him by the shoulders and looked into the boy's eyes. "Why did you run off like that?! We've been searching for you for hours! Do you know how dangerous these woods are? We were afraid a monster had gotten to you!"

Shivering, the child half mumbled, half whimpered, "I'm sorry, Uncle Ruthl. I'm sorry I ran away…"

The blacksmith's face softened just a little; he placed a hand behind the tousled brown-gold head and hugged him again. "I'm the one who's sorry, Link. We never meant for you to see something like that. It is something that must be, but I wanted to let you learn of it gradually, to prepare you for it. You see, the goats are part of our livelihood. Look at this jacket I'm wearing."

He removed said item and wrapped it around the trembling boy, who gazed down at it and petted the blue fur; one of his animal friends was keeping him warm even now.

"Death comes with life," Link whispered and leaned his head against his uncle's shoulder.

Rusl gazed at him long and hard. "Yes, that's right. The goats give us their hides to keep warm and their meat to sustain us. They do not suffer when they die, that I can assure you. We'll talk about this more later, son. For now I'd better get you back. Everyone is worried sick about you!"

The child looked up at him and nodded softly and wearily. With the turn of his head, the swordsman noted the black blood on his cheek.

"Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"I' m okay. There was a golden wolf… he saved me." With the remembrance of the beast Link looked around, eyes met only with darkness outside the circle of lantern light; he hadn't really expected to see him, anyway.

"A golden wolf? Is it possible?" Rusl stared at the child with bared astonishment. "Link, it was because of a golden wolf that we found you in the woods as a baby."

You wouldn't believe how much I have played Twilight Princess! It's insane!

I am still working on my other novelization and will continue to do so. There is no way I will be abandoning either one. The reason I decided to start this one as well is because I was in such a mood for Twilight Princess ever since the news of TPHD.

See you later...

01-28-2016 ~ Published