Disclaimer: I don't own anything but this story, which is not being written for profit...You sue me and I'll...Ummmmmmmm...Cry

Okies folks, If any of you have read my other two stories, which turned up as screw-ups, because I ran out of ideas and crap pretty early on, I'm sorry for just abandoning them. I thought I'd bounce back with something I'm pretty sure I can write. I'd appreciate any feed-back you'd like to give, as long as it's to the point and not a rant.

, Scarecrow

(Prologue)

The vast and beautiful plains were standing in the final moments of sunlight, all of it held in that unshakable embrace of unearthly serenity. The wind picked up over a rise, pulling at the tall grass in a wave of amber and topaz. The harvesting season was about, giving the land the warning signs of an ending summer.

Only a few moments to go. The sun was dropping perfectly into the far mountains. Dozens of small animals twittered about, and raced home to their dens and nests, before the night's quiet predators began their rounds. The birds were all leaving their songs to rest, finding a branch to take perch. The insects were beginning their reedy chorus, and the first vixen poked her head out of her home.

Then a strange thing happened. It was sudden and unthought-of for so many wild creatures.

It was totally silent. Not even the wind dared to speak.

The sun finished it's dive, all the world falling to the mercy of the moon.

The supreme silence was obliterated by a tremendous crack of earsplitting sound, the element of surprise augmented by the brilliant orange and red flash of light.

The very next sound after that earth shattering boom, was the harsh ring of steel on steel. All life on the plains focused on the two intruders who had smashed their peaceful cycle of events.

The figures were not hard to see, as the moon was already at the edge of the world. One was a dead-giveaway soldier, his armor and helmeted head clinging loudly at every move. The helmet was a magnificent silver, emblazoned by the moon's aid. Several gilded designs were inlaid to it, and near the top were two layer like protrusions that folded in a neat arch that were pointed back slightly. His chest plate was plain, but matched the sheen of his helmet, as did the rest of his attire. A visor was pressed down over his eyes, but his lower jaw was just visible.

The second was almost totally unremarkable, albeit slightly mysterious. The ragged cloak and hood were wrapped to conceal his entire form, with the help of a set of leather gloves, and a cloth face cover. The shadows did the work of hiding his eyes. The small and lean form suggested that it was a female. A stitched design was laid out across the person's back. Two semi-circles nearly touching, but separated by a strand of symbols and runes moving vertically down the garment.

Both held a strange style of weapon. The armored individual with a long, black blade with barb-like protrusions covering it. The other carried a staff-like instrument, with a totally straight blade on one side, and a curved falchion blade on the other.

Both were fighting fiercely against the other, and it was clear who had the advantage. While the smaller had a definite maneuvering ability, the soldier had brute strength and was wearing a ton of weight to throw around. He was driving the other person back quickly, and the hooded individual was starting to slow in reactions. A fast and relentless slash at the left side of the figure was rewarded by a high scream, now clearly female. A rather large wound was now painted across her side, crimson rivulets running down her leg and staining the grass.

The man stood up straighter, and waited for her to stagger several steps back before pointed his sword at her side.

"You've lost, little witch. Tell me where you've brought me, and I'll end you quickly."

Her ragged breath was an indication that she was quickly losing strength, "I've taken you where you don't have the luxury of your army behind you. Here, is where you will meet your death, to warriors who have fought and triumphed against the gods themselves!"

He did not respond, but his furious emotions spewed forth faintly in his stone-stillness. After several moments of contemplation, he raised his sword and stepped forth to bring his weapon down upon the now immobile figure, "Then let's see if YOU can challenge the gods as well."

A massive explosion of light once again illuminated the plains, and the man fell backwards, shielding his eyes.

Moments later he was on his feet again. His insane rage burst forth once he realized that his opponent was not there anymore.

(((((((((((((((O))))))))))))))))))

In a small bend of woods a good many miles away, a young man was sitting with a long wooden pole, a line stretching from it's tip down to drag in the river rapids he was fishing at. He tugged up at the stick every now and then, a bright orange bobber coming up with it.

The boy sighed. It was finally time for the harvest, if no fish were biting anymore. He stood up and began disassembling the fishing pole, and he turned to walk a few paces over to the large, beautiful horse. He packed away his tools and bait to a satchel on her saddle.

He rubbed her back for a good bit before he heard an almost imperceptible gasp back near the river. He turned and stalked quietly back and quickly scanned the river-bank.

There, half-dragging herself up the muddy edge, was a girl his age, face pale and twisted in pain. Her would-be cloak was torn and shredded, the hood gone, and the right sleeve as well. There were dozens of tears and holes in the garb. He stood for several seconds before the situation finally drove into his head.

He drove up mud as he ran to her, grabbing her arms and flipping her on her back. Scooping under her legs and neck, he lifted her easily, and ran over to rest her on the horse's back. It was then he saw the large stain of red on her side. Wincing when he saw it, he began to search through the saddle bags. After several moments, he came up with a small glass bottle. Within it was a tiny pink-clothed fairy, sitting up and rubbing her eyes from the sudden disruption of her sleep.

He gently tilted to bottle to where the fairy half-rolled out of it onto his palm, "I need your help, little miss." Her face lit up in a smile and she nodded quickly. Taking flight, she hovered over the girl's wound. Extending her minuscule arm, a faint pink dust dropped onto the girl's side.

Waiting patiently, Link leaned forward and thanked the fairy. She gave a comical little bow and flew off into the woods.

With a grunt, he was up on Epona's back and racing to the village at high speed.

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