Author's note: If you can't tell by the end of this chapter, this is my first fanfic that I have stuck to for so long or uploaded ^^; so I would love to hear what you think, but please go easy :)

All he could see were dead bodies.

He stumbled trance-like through his village, his devastated mind trying to make sense of his surroundings. Nothing moved-it was like some sort of morbid painting, every detail a sick, ghoulish remnant of its original hue. He couldn't recognize the buildings, despite them being the only ones he had seen his whole life. He should have known who the bodies were as well, yet they seemed wrong; the familiar friendly smiles had been stolen from their faces, the lively spark blown from their eyes, leaving them as hollow shells...

'How did this happen...?' he struggled to even form the question in his mind. He'd woken up in the medicine-man's office, and before the man could finish asking how he was, he had dropped like a stone, dead before he even reached the floor. He'd ran around the village in a panic, calling for help, but they were too busy running from something behind him. He had looked back. There were bodies sprawled around the village, but no enemies in sight. The Shadow Lord hadn't made an appearance in years, and nothing had happened to warrant one.
Overwhelming nausea took hold of him. There was one explanation that seemed to fit, despite the feeling that something was missing. Had he...killed them?
"I couldn't have," he reasoned, trying to reassure himself, "If I had I'd be covered in blood, and I'm not."

But neither were they, the forms spread around him. Even the ground was a cold, unstained grey. How could there be no blood? They'd fallen as soon as he'd seen their faces, their eyes rolled up as they met his...

Suddenly something clicked in head, the missing memory swarming his mind, and he let out a sob as cruel realization hit him like a fist to the stomach. It WAS his doing. All it had taken was a glance and they were dead.

He fell gracelessly to his knees, then his stomach, guilt crushing him mercilessly into the cold ground. He could barely breathe in the stifling silence. He closed his hands around the sharp pebbles under him, squeezed so hard his knuckles turned white, and a thin trail of blood leaked through his fingers. Why was his village sprawled out lifeless in front of him, why was it his fault, why was he still alive when they were dead...

As he lay there crying, something moved on the edge of his blurred vision. Something was approaching him. Hope slipped in, closely followed by fear. He shut his eyes as tight as he could. "No, stay away! Don't look at me!" he pleaded desperately.
He heard a pair of harsh cackles, then a painfully familiar voice in his ear.
"I'm afraid you can't use our own curse against us, boy."

His eyes flew open. That voice. It was them. He wanted to lash out at them, tear those maniacal smiles off of their faces. But he couldn't move. He was too weak to even lift his head. All he could do was roll his head to face them and glare at them with poisonous eyes. Their hideous laughter filled the still air as they started casting spells indiscriminately around them. Bubbling magma blasts from one sorceress set houses alight like dry grass in a brushfire; wild incantations from the other caused a fiercely cold wind to appear and create a whirlwind around them and the boy lying between them. Flaming sparks burned into his skin, at the same time he couldn't bear the frigid gusts biting at his face.

The two witches, still giggling horridly, then shot sharp, jagged spells at the villagers' bodies strewn about them. As the purple bolts hit them, they jolted, and their skin darkened and withered like a gnarled tree's bark. Then, to the boy's horror, the villagers strenuously pushed themselves off of the ground. They turned their heads and looked at him with dark, empty eyes and gaping mouths, and slowly staggered towards him. As they drew closer, he heard something over the roaring winds; they were trying to talk, but half of it came out as incomprehensible moaning.
"Whyyyyy...diiiiiid youuuuu...kiiiilllllll...uuuuussss..."

His voice was gone. He couldn't tell them that he hadn't meant to, that he wished he were dead instead of them...

Still they came closer, their voices becoming more persistent, more demanding.

They were so close now that he could see each crease in their leathery skin, hear their joints creaking like old doors on rusty hinges.

The closest dead villager launched itself at him, and he finally found his voice and screamed.

-

He shot upright with a cry as he woke from his nightmare. The only sounds were his rapid breathing and his heart ramming urgently against his chest. The smell of soil and grass and burned wood gently drifted into his frightened mind. Soft, fresh grass brushed his hands and a cool breeze danced through his hair. The silver light of the moon seeped through the wrappings over his blood-red eyes.

It took a moment to realize that he was awake and not dead, and when he did he brought a shaky, bandaged hand to his face and willed his racing heart and lungs to slow down.

A huff from his left startled him, causing him to reach for the knife at his hip, but he immediately determined that it was just Reyn, his mare. She always lied down behind him at night, and he would fall asleep against her. It was the only way he could sleep at all. Her warmth and the rhythmic rise and fall of her body soothed him like a mother's embrace, her big, strong body protected him from the plague of nightmares.

He reached out, searching for her face, and felt her velvety nose press worriedly into his hand. He rubbed it affectionately and lay back down against her, trying to erase the echoes of his dream from his mind.

There was an inquiring chirp from behind him, and he knew he had woken Daran as well. The young Sheikah and hawk had been together for 4 years, and a spell had been placed on them that allowed Zephyr to see whatever Daran saw, for a short time at least. Zephyr took a peek through the Daran's eyes now and saw himself fixed intently in the bird's gaze.

"Retsal, nya queya hin l lihon." he sighed, using the animal language to say "Relax, it was just a dream".

Hyrulean animals had extraordinary telepathic abilities, but only they could understand each other clearly. Some tribes of Hyrule had developed telepathic skills as well, and a few individuals had learned the feral language or taught an animal counterpart to translate it into human words. Daran had been taught to translate the feral language into basic human words, and had taught Zephyr the animal language. He was now more fluent in it than he'd ever been with the human language.

(Heyl nya?) Daran asked, using the feral words for "same" and "one".

"Sa, heyl lihon." the boy sighed, his hand still covering his face. Reyn snorted and nudged his shoulder fretfully.
(Ikla venja nya nenta grefal ei.) She says they come more often now.

Zephyr gently pushed the horse down, then stroked her forehead. "Rta, she's right. They're happening every week now."

(Nya erstei mentana, cela jun? Do you think it means something?) Daran asked. (Is it some sort of sign?)

"If it's a sign that I'm losing what sanity I have left," Zephyr joked humorlessly. Still, he couldn't help but wonder the same thing. He felt around the grass for his cloak and pulled it up over his shoulders. "We'll worry about it tomorrow, now we need to sleep. Good night, Daran, Reyn."

(Sleep well, Zephyr.) Reyn whinnied her agreement as her beloved young man curled up beside her, his hand still resting on her nose as he fell asleep.