who saw THIS coming?
Been literal years since I've written anything TP. I'm thinking about starting something serious since I've been craving fic for it. I stil like midnight ice but I was going to rewrite the whole thing and update it. Here's a warm up I did for now.
...
fleeting -
The fire pit cracked, fizzed, and spat. Embers ascended in languid, carefree paths to the heavens. It would've been complete tranquility, were it not for the sound of his movements. The rustle of fabric as he undid his gloves, the tumble of material he shed the heaviest furs from his torso, landing with a heavy plod onto the frigid stone beneath. Link settled into his spot in his makeshift cave, drawing thin battle-worn limbs to his body and away from the tumultuous snowstorm that transpired mere feet from him.
Movement caught the corner of his eye. While his hand tensed around the hilt of his sword, his grip slacked when he realized it was much too smooth and much too above the ground to be a threat. Certainly, once, it'd been that: the twitch of undergrowth, the batting of wings – anything foreign in his eyes, and he'd be ready to strike. Midna's movements had once been that, too.
Now, he only watched as the imp settled with a groan. And then her small fingers jabbed his side. He resisted two before he finally shuffled over, just enough for her to settle on the tip of his thickest pelt. "Food?" she murmured.
He shook his head.
She frowned. "You should eat," she said, her accented Hylian ringing like mismatched bells in an empty cathedral. One glance at him, and her concern melted away, replaced with her usual teasing. "Yeti soup or not, it can't sustain you for that long!"
Link only made a grumble of protest, his elbow nudging softly into her side – which was to say, most of her body. Midna caught the limb with the tips of her finger, offering a surprisingly amount of resistance. "You're a growing boy," she said, her one visible eye narrowing. He knew her well enough, though, to sift through the jests and jabs to find visceral concern, concern she'd surely never admit to.
So he shook his head accusingly at her.
As much as he could read her, she too could read him. "I told you, didn't I?" She said nonchalantly. And He made a noise as the tips of her helmet, the Fused Shadow, prodded into him, and he shifted to accommodate the new (yet minimal) weight as the Shadow Imp leaned against his side. Midna crossed her arms behind her head, humming a tuneless melody into their shelter for the night. "I'm already full grown. You're a child. And do not," she said fiercely, "argue with me."
He considered it, truly, but instead he closed his mouth stubbornly. Her victory clearly won, Midna lifted herself from her spot against him, instead floating just a few feet from him. And then something nearly knocked the wind from his lungs; his fingers grasped the sides of his bag before he moved the flap aside, drawing some dried fish, fruits and nuts from within. His eyes panned from the new contents up to her now awaiting Cheshire smile. "What do you say?"
He rolled his eyes.
"Close enough," Midna said. She floated just a bit closer before plucking one of the dried plums from his palm, popping it gleefully into her mouth. "Honestly I'd avoid the fish," she said conversationally. "It's probably leftover from dinner. I don't know. I didn't ask."
Midna may be more of a picky eater, but Link had never been. Especially not recently – the soup had spoiled him, that was sure. He lifted the pack of dried fish, still wrapped rather clumsily in brown paper. He undid the strings holding the package together (at this point, Midna had turned pointedly away) and sure enough, it appropriately reeked. It was food nevertheless, and Link swallowed through his mouthful of saliva before taking a hesitant bite. It was salty, not quite smelly, but definitely not something as palatable for the Twili, he knew for certain. And yet he waited just deliberately long enough for his companion to turn hesitantly around – only to whip back when he grinned at her, certain that there were bits of reddish scales still in his teeth.
She pushed a miniature palm into his chest. "Gross," she complained, but he could hear amusement at the edges of her voice.
He only laughed, the quiet sound almost overtaken by the snaps of their makeshift fire.
And their quiet meal went on something like that. She'd occasionally steal the bits she could tolerate – the dried plums, slices of apple, a couple nuts here and there. But it was quiet, tranquil, and it was somewhat nice to be away from the storm for once, instead of the middle of it.
Eventually, her small fingers kneaded into his shoulder. "Could you?"
He gave her a look. She rolled her eyes.
"Oh come on. It's warmer for you that way. Don't pretend like you dislike it."
He didn't. In truth, he loved it. He loved unlocking those senses he didn't even know he had, he loved being able to hear everything, from the rustling of the tiniest pines to the ruffling of the smallest wings. He loved the animalistic traits that unlocked upon transforming; he loved the simple pleasure of a cool lake to lap, of the winds blowing through his furs.
Not that he would ever let her know, of course.
So he relaxed as her grin grew again, as she held out a hand and a black crystal materialized just millimeters from her palm. It spun lazily, orangey veins pulsing. And she held it up, ominous light emitting from the object, tinting her white face to a pale orange.
It no longer hurt. In fact, it was almost soothing, now that he'd come to accept it. It was like he'd been dunked in ice water, but then it was suddenly cool, and he long since stopped noticing the odd yet not painful feeling of needles procuring in masses from his skin. Long since stopped noticing the weird itching as his face shape changed, the very structure of his bones morphing.
She grinned as the wolf shook himself out, fur puffing upwards. This is how she knew. His fur was still adolescent, new and impossibly soft in places where her hands would touch. The lines by his eyes, as a wolf, weren't as deep. Hylians were strange in that regard, their young accepted as adult much too soon. Like this, anyone else would now the truth: that Link, however old and aged he may appear, was just a boy.
Midna let herself be drawn to him, watching as his eyes followed her. "Thanks, friend."
He made a small sound – that it was for him, and not for her – but they both knew the lie. Especially as he settled onto his haunches, before his entire body lay flat against the rocky ground. She lazed herself against his fur (so soft, she thought mildly, so young) and rested her head against his flank. He made a low sound just beyond the constraints of the Fused Shadow, but she patted his snout almost roughly, a twinge of amusement passing through her as he shook his head somewhat irritably. She fidgeted around, making the perfect nest, until his hind leg lightly kicked her in her shin. "Alright alright," she conceded. "You mutt."
With a snap of her fingers, the fire went out.