My original idea for this story was rather short, and then I thought I could make it into a pretty neat novel (at least, novel is what I'm aiming for), but I'm not going to really say much of what it will be about. I want it to be a surprise. And while my story has a decent number of original characters (the most OC-based fan fiction I have yet to write), there will be a substantial amount of Ghirahim-goodness later on. So don't you fret!

Anyway, I am working on this at the same time as a Ratchet and Clank novel, so I may be a bit slow to update….

Ghirahim, most locations (save Dromer), and various creatures and other such things are property of Nintendo. Wren, Lilli, Boar, and the other various townsfolk are property of me.

The Demon in the Pines

Chapter 1: Baskets

Dromer was about as far out in the boondocks as one could get. Tiny and isolated, it was even less well known than its closest neighbor, Ordon Village, which could at least be praised for the quality of its goat cheese and milk, if that was even really something to be praised over. Nestled in the outskirts of Faron Woods, on the southern foothills of the mountain range that was home to the dreaded Death Mountain, the only thing that ever put this backwater place on the map was when its residents would send out their various wares on the rare caravan, their goods consisting of skins and furs, the local blacksmith's tools and weapons, and whatever other crafts its people created.

Yes, that was the only way that anyone was aware this place even existed, when it actually came to their attention just where these things came from in the first place. Because Dromer was a boring village, a place so uneventful, the only exciting thing that ever happened was when caravans occasionally brought news of the outside world or when a moblin decided to wander too close to town.

And then there were the stories, though anyone with any sense had to know they were just that, stories, mere superstitions, a thing that seemed all too common in small villages such as this, surely because this was likely the only way the townspeople could make this place even remotely interesting. There were many stories, all revolving around the pine woods, the most cited being the belief that a demon resided somewhere deep in the forest, a rumor that started long ago and had still not died down. To this day, hunters would report hearing laughter, sometimes even raucous giggling, way out where no one had any right to be, while others argued it was sobbing they heard, though they said the sound, as mournful as it was, chilled the blood more than anything. And that was only when people returned from the woods in the first place.

But, such fools' tales were easily explained, even if most of the villagers didn't agree. For one thing, this particular neck of the woods where the demon was said to reside was already known for being haunted, as it lay in a valley where fog would collect, the same fog that also conjured up supposed ghost sightings, not to mention the fact that the drifting lights of the blue bubbles and the bloodcurdling howls of the wolfos in that area were also quite well-suited to inducing hallucinations of terror. And the second reason why these were just stories stemmed from the fact that hunters would sometimes get drunk before trekking out into the woods, where they would no doubt imagine the sounds they had heard. And when people were dragged off by moblins or had the misfortune, or the clumsiness, to fall down the steep slopes that pervaded the woods, or when they simply got too lost to find their way back, who could say which deaths were caused by the supposed "demon" or pure foolishness?

No, nothing interesting ever happened in this village, not when the stories were surely fake and when anything that actually mattered happened, it took place many miles away. And that was why Wrendale, the blacksmith's youngest daughter and involuntary apprentice, had no choice but to one day travel to Hyrule Castle, where she would become a soldier and go on to see the world. She had turned fifteen several months ago, after all, and when she had asked the caravan driver last he was here, he said they accepted people into the Hyrule Castle Royal Guard as early as sixteen And when that day came, Wren would escape from this place, and she would never come back. There was nothing left for her here anyway. Not anymore.

And it was at this time, as she awaited the day she would eventually leave her home since birth to venture out into a world she had only heard about, that Wren had yet to learn to fear the woods.

Wren was currently sitting on her bed, cross-legged despite the dusty boots that still adorned her feet, as she picked at the fibers of a half-made basket she was hunched over, more in seemingly vacant thought than in concentration. While she had retreated to her room several hours ago once her father's hawk-eyed attention grew to be more than she could stand, she had since given up on weaving the fibers any further into the ever-widening spiral she had been working on. The basket was really much too shallow to be a basket anyway. If anything, it was more like a slightly concave plate, so what point was there in expending any more effort on it when she had already failed in her work anyway?

And it wasn't as if her father needed any more reasons to point out her apparent incompetence, a pastime she swore he enjoyed about as much as he delighted in nagging at her to do chores she planned on getting to later. She began to tug at the basket fibers, and when this didn't bring about the satisfaction she desired, she started to pull them in the opposite direction as she began to unravel her own, hideous creation.

"Wren, I think your basket looks fine."

"Huh?" Her attention turned to one fiber and then the next, pulling them loose until the end of the weave began to look even more ragged than ever as her rough treatment started to make some of the fibers split down their middles.

"Wren, stop it. Just stop and tell me what's wrong this time. I know you get destructive when you're cross."

Her head jerked up, and she pushed sloppy, muddy brown hair out of her face (its unremarkable color was courtesy of her father, unfortunately, not that she cared for the attention her sister's dirty blonde hair afforded her). "Nothing's wrong."

Lillia smiled at her from the bed that stood against the wall adjacent. A third bed used to occupy the wall across from Wren's. And on her elder sister's lap rested a basket of alternating colors, built up to resemble a sphere with the top cut off.

In fact, the braids arranged in a most elaborate fashion on her head almost resembled the woven fibers her basket contained. How pleased it made their father that Lilli was actually talented in some areas, even though she was two years older than Wren and would be getting married soon anyway, and thus, had no need for such methods of supporting herself when she could have a man do it for her. No, she was going to be a housewife. How fitting for such a dull village as this.

"Come now," her sister said, fingers moving in a meticulous manner as they wove the various fibers of her basket, extending its delicate curves just a little further with each movement. "We used to talk more. If you would just tell me what's on your mind, then maybe I could help you."

"We never used to talk."

Lilli's hands grew still, and blue eyes rose to meet her younger sister's brown ones, smile gone slack to make way for a sternness her sister really had no right to direct at her. "Yes, I know we were never really close. Not since we were little, at least. But, we still used to talk more than we do now. Ever since—"

Wren's attention dropped back down to whatever it was she had made, and she resumed her fruitless picking. "If you don't mind, I'm busy making a plate. Out of grass." She held her unfinished creation out before her. "You can use it as an oversized pot rest. Even if it'll probably just catch on fire."

"Things don't catch on fire just because you put something hot on them."

At this, Wren pulled her self-proclaimed pot rest to her chest and held it close. "Good. It'll work, then."

Lilli sighed and shook her head as she returned to her work. "Always so touchy."

"How am I touchy? I was agreeing with you."

"Never mind."

"Don't call me names when I wasn't even doing anything."

"Just drop it, okay?"

Wren continued to watch her, and she pressed her lips in a straight line before she blew out and shook her head when a stray hair tickled her nose. "Boar's birthday is in a few days, you know."

"I do know that. That's all you've been talking about lately. When you actually talk, that is."

"But, father still refuses to do anything about it."

"Is that why you left the smithy early today?"

"No."

"Because as much as you hate working towards becoming a blacksmith, I thought you hated basket weaving, as well. Something about it being boring and pointless, and you think your fingers are too bulky for it. And yet, here you are, weaving the finest…plate in all of Ordon Province."

"One, Boar said my fingers were too bulky, and two, as horrible as basket weaving is, being a blacksmith is ten times worse. It's hot and tiring and…father's there."

"And whenever you two get in a fight, you come running back to me."

Wren's gaze shot back up. "That's not—"

"And I can only assume you must've gotten into another war over what to do about Eriboar's birthday, and that's why you came back here, and in a prickly mood, none other." Lilli directed a sagely grin at her younger sister's sour frown.

"That's not what happened."

Lilli threw her arms into the air, and her basket rolled onto its side. "Stop lying, Wren. I know you better than that." She set the basket aside and rose, only to sit back down on her sister's bed.

"Go away!"

Wren leaned away as her sister went about smoothing her skirts down. When Lilli failed to obey, she attempted to stand, only to be prevented from doing so when her sister wrapped her arms around her and pulled her face into her shoulder.

"Lilli, stop it!" Wren said in a muffled tone and braced her hands against her sister's arms in an effort to pull away, the flat basket falling to the sheets between them.

"Wren, I know how close you and Eriboar were, but you have to understand that it's just too soon."

"It's been half a year," she said into her sister's sleeve. She smelled like soap.

"Yes, but you know how hard his…his disappearance was on Father, and it's obviously still difficult for you, too."

"I'm fine."

"Stop trying to act tough, Wren. You skipped your own birthday after it happened."

"That was too soon."

"So you must be able to see that celebrating his birthday…when he's not even going to be here to enjoy it with us, is going to be more than a little awkward."

"I'm going to wipe my nose on you if you don't let go."

"Wren…"

"I'll do it. I've done it before."

Wren straightened once Lilli released her and rubbed a back that had gotten rather twisted in that unnecessary show of affection. Her sister folded her hands in her lap, and it was all Wren could do to refrain from rolling her eyes at the understanding expression she was directing at her.

"You were right," Lilli said. "We don't ever talk. Not about what matters. Especially not about what happened. Maybe it would help you to cope if you just got your feelings out into the open."

Wren unfolded her legs and slung her feet over the side of the bed. "There's nothing to talk about. There's nothing to cope with. I don't have a choice. All I can do is deal with it." She set her feet on the floor and stood, looking down at Lilli as she continued, "But, I'm not going to forget about our brother just because Father wants to."

"That's not what he's trying to do! Wren, get back here!"

She continued her march towards the door, and once she reached it, only then did she spin about to say, "And you may as well finish up…" she swung a hand at the not-basket on the bed, "that. Because I think I've butchered it enough already."

I know a lot hasn't happened yet, but I'm pretty proud of this story and how it's coming along so far. This story is quite unique for me, as it's not often my main character is my own creation, and I very much hope you keep reading and enjoy my little tale.

And by the way, the name of the village is loosely based off of the Gaelic word for "mystery". Anyway, please review and tell me your thoughts so far.