Greetings! :) I figured it was about time for a new LoZ story, since I haven't written anything in quite sometime. This was supposed to be a one shot, but it turned out freakishly long and I didn't think anyone would want to sit through over three thousand words at a time. ;P

Warning/FYI: This is a bittersweet story and it doesn't have much excitement. The entire thing is told in both flashbacks and current time (flashbacks will be in italics, just so you know). It mainly centers around those at Romani Ranch (Cremia, Romani, Grog, and Mamamu Yan) and a little bit around Barten, the man who works at the Milk Bar. Cremia and Romani's father also plays a part in this. The name I've given him is Baiko. Aaaand there is NO romance in this story. Turn back if that's what you were looking for. Friendship only. XD (Also, long author's note ahead, feel free to skip to the story.)

I wrote this for a lot of reasons. It's been kind of a rough year as far as losing people goes. Family, close friends, Robin Williams... You get the picture. In the midst of all that, though, writing this really gave me peace. I don't know if you know this or not, but, as a writer, sometimes you write exactly what you need to hear. Sometimes writing is your way of dealing with things. And, the more I wrote this, the better I felt. Yeah, there's been a lot of losses, but - you know what? - there's also been a lot of gain as well. Life can be sad, but it can also be beautiful. Someone might be gone, but look at those surrounding you. There's a lot of ways to view one thing and both God and this story helped me realize that.

So, I dedicate this to anyone who's lost someone recently. Remember, it's not about their death, but their life and how it impacted yours. :)

The morning light of dawn was just beginning to streak the sky with colors of gold and white when he reached Romani Ranch. The cows were already scattered about the open field, a single balloon floating in place only feet away from the stable. Everything was as it had always been. Things never changed around here - it hadn't for years. But then, they lived on a road called Milk Road. It was underpopulated and seldom when anyone ventured far enough out to visit, or change the routines of life in the country.

He supposed he liked it that way. The quiet, the emptiness, the long, thoughtful strolls he'd take back to Clock Town. There were many perks to working at Romani Ranch and many downsides to residing in Clock Town. The majority of the townsfolk found themselves oblivious to the heart of the ranch, too caught up in the hustle and bustle of life in the city to care for others.

It was that caring spirit, one others so often missed, that had drawn him here in the first place. It was that sense of acceptance and love from a total stranger that had led him here so long ago. He had never known anything like it, never met anyone who cared as much as the people who owned the ranch. The family was small, but their impact on his life was huge.

"Now what are you doin' here again, kid? I thought you got the message last time - I don't hire minors." The gruff man wiped his hands on a towel, sighing as he stared down at the boy before him. "Look, there are other places to work in this town. Maybe you can ask Madame Aroma down at the mayor's office if you can run some errands for her. She loves kids."

The boy's hands clenched into fists, a pleading look in his white eyes. "Sir, you don't understand, I need the money!"

The man frowned, running a hand through his dark hair. "What did you say your name was?"

"Grog."

He opened his mouth to speak, but the front door of the bar flew open and a tall man appeared in the doorway, holding a large crate. "Milk delivery for Mr. Barten!"

Barten moved his gaze from Grog to the man standing in the doorway, a grin playing on his lips. "Well, it's about time." He crossed the room, taking the box from the man. "I thought you'd abandoned the bar for that ol' ranch of yours, Baiko."

The younger man smiled softly, heading back to the door. "Are you kidding? You know I'd never forget this place."

"Good, 'cause without you we couldn't keep it running." He turned back to Grog, whose white eyes seemed to pierce through their very beings. "Hey, kid, Baiko's got some more milk crates out there. Mind giving us a hand?"

"Will I get payed?"

"Nope."

"Then no."

He sighed, disappearing behind the counter to set the crate down as Baiko did the same with another one. "All right, Grog," Barten began, once he'd straightened, grunting when his back popped. "Why do you need the money?"

The boy merely blinked. "Why does it matter?"

"Because it's not everyday a twelve year old kid shows up at a bar asking for work."

"I'm thirteen."

"I wasn't asking how old you are."

Grog sighed, running a pale hand over his head. "You want the truth?"

Barten raised his eyebrows, moving over to let Baiko set another crate down. "I would prefer it, yes."

"Well . . . My gramps and I just moved here. He hasn't been doing well. He needs help."

"What kind of help?"

"He's ill. He needs a doctor."

Barten waited for the boy to elaborate, but he never did, so the older man moved around the counter and took a seat on one of the stools lining the bar. "So, you want to get him a doctor?"

Grog nodded.

"There aren't many doctors in Clock Town, you know. Is it something a potion can fix?"

"No." The thirteen year old caught the eyes of Baiko, who was now returning for a third time, walking a bit slower now. "He spent all his money to take me here with him. He's the only one who has looked out for me . . . The least I could do is find someone to look out for him."

Barten's face softened and he took a deep breath. "Well, kid, you have a big heart, I'll give you that, but I'm afraid I still can't hire you. You're underage."

"All right." Grog's sentence was abrupt, his posture suddenly stiff. "Well, thanks, anyway." He had just turned to start toward the exit when he heard another voice from behind him.

"Hey, wait."

He turned around and there was the tall man from the ranch, Baiko. "Listen, uh, I have a ranch down on Milk Road and, I don't know if you'd be interested or not, but I kind of need someone to help with the Cucco Shack I just built."

He waited for a while, but the teenager remained expressionless and silent. "Oh, I get it. Kids these days don't want to spend their time working on a ranch. That's fine, my daughter felt the same way, but it's good spending money." He winked and flashed a warm grin, one Grog wasn't used to seeing on an adult. "Your choice."

The child's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"As a cow in a cucco pen."

The tiniest of smiles played on Grog's lips and, for the first time since he'd moved to Clock Town, he felt like he'd made a real friend.

That had been years ago, a long lost memory. He tried not to think about that time in his life, when he was so helpless and Gramps was so sick. He'd had to work hard, but Gramps got the help he needed. That was all that really mattered.

This ranch had changed a lot of things for him, maybe not immediately, but the longer he stuck around, the harder it was to imagine himself leaving. This was home now.

The thought lingered as he pulled open the door to the house and stepped inside, greeted with the smell of cucco and sizzling bacon. He wasn't fond of the idea of eating cucco for breakfast - especially when, afterward, he'd have to go over to the Cucco Shack and pretend like he didn't just eat their kinfolk - but it wasn't like Cremia fixed cucco all the time, so maybe he'd take a bite or two, just enough to show he was grateful she never let him starve.

Mamamu Yan, owner of the Doggy Racetrack next to the Cucco Shack (those pups never shut up), was already at the table next to Romani, watching as Cremia scurried back and forth between the table and stove. "I know you care, honey, but you didn't have to do all this."

It was true, she didn't. Along with the cucco and bacon, the tabletop was crowded with biscuits for Mamamu Yan, deserts for Romani, some sort of weird meat for Grog, and a few other things that smelled wonderful, but filled them all with suspicion.

Romami glanced up from where she was picking at her cucco. "Yeah. You only cook this stuff on special occasions. What's today?"

"Nothing special." Cremia was smiling wider than usual when she turned around, placing the final plate of food on the table and taking a seat across from Romani. "Can't I just do something extra for everyone? You all work so hard to keep this place running. You deserve something nice every once in a while."

Grog watched her, looking for any sign of worry, a sign bad news was coming, but her smile never wavered. If something was wrong, she'd never let them know. She'd always been that way.

He scanned the area surrounding him. There were no cuccos here yet, only a tree and a few colorful boards sitting next to a lone saw in the middle of the yard. This was where the Cucco Shack would be, once they were finished making last minute adjustments.

Personally, he couldn't imagine working there, much less having cuccos live there. He could still hear the crazy dog lady's mutts yipping from here. All they ever did was run around that stupid race track. Wouldn't the poor cuccos become agitated because of all the noise? And would it be safe for them here? There were no pens and he didn't see any food. How would they eat? Better yet, how would he take care of them?

"So what do you think?"

He whirled around to see Baiko standing a few feet away, that cheerful grin still spread across his face. "I like it," he replied. "It's big." He glanced over at the boards and the saw sitting across the yard. "What do I do first?"

Baiko turned him toward the exit, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder. "Well, Grog, your first assignment is one I think you'll like."

The two exited the shack and Baiko stopped abruptly when they headed left of the door. "Cremia. What are you doing here?"

The red head was surrounded by paintbrushes and buckets, wearing what looked to be her father's clothes. "I'm here to paint the shack, like you wanted."

"That isn't your job," Baiko explained. "We've already talked about this."

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him, her eyebrows furrowed. "You made us move all the way out here. The least you can do is let me paint the shack."

Baiko took a few steps forward and knelt down to meet her eyes. "I know this wasn't easy," he said softly, "but we didn't have a choice. Just hang on a little while longer and things will get better, okay?"

She blew her hair out of her face, looking away. "This isn't about that, Daddy. I want to paint the Cucco Shack."

"I already promised Grog he could."

"But-"

Grog met her eyes. She looked frustrated, but he knew that was a facade. Even kids had masks to hide behind and hers wasn't as impenetrable as she thought it was.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his eyes, so white they were completely blank, without even his pupils visible. She tried to backpedal, to seem as though she hadn't been caught off guard, but it was too late. He'd noticed.

She shifted her gaze back to her father, holding her head high to seem sure of herself. "A-Aren't you paying him?"

Baiko nodded.

"Well . . . I'll work for free!"

Grog glanced back and forth between the two. "She can help."

They both stared at him, their eyes wide with surprise. "Are you sure?" Baiko questioned. "She can be a bit of a handful to work with sometimes."

The boy nodded. "If it means that much to her, then yeah."

Cremia glanced back at her father. "Will you let me help?"

He smiled. "Of course. I'm gonna go check on Romani. You kids have fun." And with that, he had started across the field, humming a cheerful melody.

Grog glanced back at the girl before him. "He didn't tell us what color to paint it."

She didn't even look his way as she began dumping paint into the buckets. "That's because he trusts my creative genius. I've been painting for a long time now."

He grabbed a paint brush and fiddled with it as she finished getting the buckets ready. "How long?"

"Two months." She didn't seem to care that that wasn't very long, so Grog decided not to mention it. "It was the last thing my mom did with me before she . . ." She stopped, realizing she'd already said too much, and stood up quickly, dunking her paintbrush into a bucket and splashing some white onto the wooden wall. "We should paint a few cuccos."

"Okay." Watching her to make sure he did this right, he wet his paint brush and made small strokes of white a few inches away from her. "So, what happened to your mom?"

"Hm?" She looked up at him now, a smile brightening her face while her eyes told a completely different story. "Oh, her? She's just not around anymore."

She sounded so cheerful, like it was a normal thing to admit. Grog couldn't imagine feeling so nonchalant about someone's death. She went back to painting, her smile never fading, her cheeks red.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up."

Her eyes met his once more and sparkled with something - were those tears? "It's fine, really." She forced the corners of her mouth to stay up. "I'm fine."

Grog's hand dropped to his side, splattering paint all over his pants. "Okay." He rubbed the back of his neck, studying her with caution. "Are you sure about that?"

"Mhmm!" She smiled wider and went back to painting, ignoring the tears that rolled down her cheeks. "I'm fine."

Grog wasn't sure what to do. All he'd wanted was some money to help Gramps. He didn't sign up for all this other stuff - like girls and crying and emotions. It was official: He wasn't cut out for this job. "Uh . . . Maybe I should go get your dad."

He had only taken two steps in the opposite direction when her voice forced him to stop, "You know, I could have done this by myself."

He could tell she was still crying. This was getting worse by the second. He needn't waste anymore time. This was a job for her father, not him.

He took another step, but stopped once more when she spoke. "I didn't want to move here. If we'd stayed at home, maybe Mom would have come back."

His eyebrows knitted together and he took his time turning to face her. "Come back? But I thought you said she was-"

"She's not dead." The paint on her brush, now white with a tint of red from another bucket, dropped to the ground, staining the grass in the same way Cremia's tears stained her face. "She left us."

Both of them fell into a long silence, the birds chirping in the air and his pounding heart the only things Grog could hear.

"I keep thinking she would have come back for me, if I had stayed behind." She wiped her tears away, but didn't dare turn around and face Grog. "She loved me a lot, I know she did. She would have come for Romani and I."

He waited for her to continue, but seconds ticked by like hours and he couldn't stand the thought of anymore crying. "If she cared, she would have stayed," he whispered.

Without warning, her paint brush dropped to the ground and she whirled around, her blue eyes suddenly ablaze with anger. "You don't know what you're talking about! She cared about me more than anyone!" Her hands were coiled into fists at her sides as she stomped through the grass to close the distance between them. "You don't know my mother, so don't talk about her! She loved me! And I wasn't asking for your input, your pity, or even your help! Why did you come here in the first place? My dad has a hard enough time providing for us without some beggar showing up, asking for money!"

"Beggar?" Grog repeated, his eyes narrowing. Surely he had heard her wrong. He had been called a lot of things in his life - cheater, liar, thief, nuisance - but beggar was not among them. "I'm earning my pay! And your dad's the only one in this stupid kingdom who will give me half a chance! What's wrong with wanting more than I have?"

"The fact that you're taking it from others!"

"I didn't ask for the job - he chose me!"

"Well, he chose wrong!"

Grog rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, Princess. I didn't realize the world revolved around you so much that no one else matters. You're really selfish, you know that?"

She snorted. "What are you talking about?"

"You have everything!" He waved his arms around to emphasize. "You live in this nice place with your nice family and everything's perfect!"

"It is not perfect!"

He sighed. "Well it sure seems that way. You have a dad and a sister. You live in a big house, people aren't afraid of you!" He raised his eyebrows. "You have more than most people. All I'm saying is you should be grateful for it."

He tossed his paint brush into a bucket and turned around, starting across the field, hands in his pockets.

Cremia stared at him, her mouth opening, closing, and then opening again. "Where are you going?" she called after him.

"I quit! Tell your dad I said thanks."

More chapters to come shortly! Thanks for reading! :D