Clouds cast hazy shadows over the autumn hills of the northern countryside, drawing clarity away from the streams and forests which tumble over the harsh geography. Close to the edge where field falls into fjord quaint homes cluster together. Among these homes children bound through the spaces between each one, dogs dig holes and steal bites from apples, and hard-working parents carry goods to sell.
A customer stands before a stall displaying gems of various colors and sizes, and the owner stares back, hoping for a purchase.
"How long have you been open?" The customer asks, her eyes scanning over the rarer of the stones.
"A couple years now; since I moved here, I guess," the young Goron owner responds.
"I don't doubt it took you awhile to come about some of these rarer finds," she says, taking a red shimmering gem from its place on the table. She holds it against the sun, shutting one eye and examining the stone with the other.
"Oh it definitely did. I spent plenty of days before opening for business just collecting specimens and making sure they were of decent quality."
"How much are you charging for this one here?" She continues looking at the gem while asking.
"That one there, with how pristine it is," the Goron takes a moment to ponder, "probably close to nine-hundred rupees."
The woman doesn't flinch for a moment at the price, "Alright." In less than a moment she's left the stall, turning her back on the disappointed shop-keeper.
Dirt and blades of yellowing grass move beneath her smooth footsteps as the woman moves away from the shop. Increasingly shallow breaths begin to rush through her lungs. Out from her pocket she pulls a pouch strung tight with golden thread, and opens it swiftly with a single hand. Within appears to be a small store of red-tinted dust. She takes a handful of the substance out, and turns back towards the direction of the gem stall.
Eyes begin to latch onto the woman as she takes her place before the Goron once more.
"Did you change your mind?"
"No."
And in an instant the air is filled with dark red smoke and the gem which was examined before is lost.
Beneath a tree sits the same woman, her hair tightly tied back. Within her hands a shimmering red stone is turned end-over-end in a continuous, nervous loop. A soft gaze is cast down upon it. Words too quiet to understand fall from her lips.
A gentle breeze rustles through the autumn branches above. The clouds have parted ways, leaving the warm sky of sunset free to cover the land in red.