R&R!

The Long Road Home

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Ah, the forest. No matter where he had traveled (and he had come far), Link always found forests vibrant and comforting, full of the life he had worked so hard to protect. Everything there had a place in the grand scheme of the forest and was content; no scrabbling for money to buy that new dress, or that fancy suit; no clashes of wills and words with stuck up aristocrats assured of their own supremacy through wealth; no complicated nuances of society, no conforming to popular views, no lies, no backstabbing.

Link often envied them, the denizens of these wooded havens, often wished he could run free as a deer or even a Wolfo. For them life was simple: eat to stay alive, then avoid being eaten. They felt no desire to gorge themselves on more than necessary, no need to drown in mead or wine. He envied them, coveted their innocence.

He had lost his innocence long ago, forced to wake up a child in the body of a man to save Hyrule, a stranger in himself. He had seen and felt things no man, women or child should ever have to experience—spitting Lizafos on the Master Sword, feeling the blood of countless monsters slain in the name of peace stick to his skin and soak his clothes, watching fellow men die in the street trying in vain to save their families. He saw the people he once knew—his friends—saw them guant and starving or as bloodied corpses left in Ganondorf's brutal wake. Even after returning to childhood a forgotten hero he could not regain his innocence sacrificed for his fellow men and women.

Blinking eyes the color of bottomless untamed seas, he pulled his mind from the rambling melancholic track it had pursued. One of the great virtues and vices of solitary traveling is the time to let the mind pursue its own ends. It could relieve the often-present boredom and philosophize but it could also leave the mind saturated with dark ruminations like an apple simmering in a vat of acid.

He cast his thoughts once again to the leafy halls he now rode through. This was the verges of Kokiri Forest, his home both past and present. It was said that Hylians lost amid the seemingly endless sea of trees would eventually die and be reborn as a Stalfos to prey upon unsuspecting travelers. Myth or no, he saw none of the skeletal fiends here; this was a relatively safe place, the densely packed forests of Termina behind him and the magical forest of the Kokiri in front. He had grown up here, an unknowing Hylian orphan hidden from the Great War by his mortally wounded mother and entrusted to the Great Deku Tree with her dying gasps. The Kokiri village, his childhood home, was unfortunately not on his route. He could detour, but did not feel up to facing the awkwardness of being the tallest in the village of eternal children by at least three feet.

His home now was a modest wooden house nestled out of the way on the edge of the forest facing Hyrule field. Closer to Lake Hylia to the south than Kakariko Village to the northeast, its location had been a message to Princess Zelda, the only one apart from him and the sages who remembered his fight in the other time: Leave me alone. I am not your workhorse anymore. Link still chafed at the memories of Zelda drawing him, a naïve little forest boy, into the journey and battle for Hyrule.

Link cast his gaze around him, in search of the familiar landmarks to guide him home. Though he had lived all his life—outside of adventuring—in the forest, he was still amazed and humbled by its splendor. It had rained the night before, a cleansing downpour that left the forest today awash in the crisp clarity of sight and smell that always seemed to follow rainstorms. Beads of dew clearer than the finest glass money could buy adorned every green blade of grass and vibrant leaf. They sparkled in the sunlight filtering in shifting beams through the leafy canopy above, billions of stars strewn across a shifting emerald sky.

Upholding the lofty living canopy overhead were trees, thousands, millions of them, from immense columns six paces wide to petite poles thinner than his wrist. They watched him as he rode slowly past, solemn yet benevolent sentinels with bark wrinkled with age or stretched tight with youth, eyes made of knots in the bark, flowing beards made of smooth drapes of moss. Perhaps they all are alive, Link thought, like the Great Deku Tree's sprout. The forest's inhabitants, shy as ever, stared timidly at him from behind trees or through the leafy foliage along the ground. Overhead birds flitted from branch to branch twittering their songs or searching for food revealed in last night's rainfall. He knew that they all must be staring at him; after all, this section of land didn't receive many visitors.

And an odd sight he must present to these sheltered creatures. It was doubtful that they had ever seen a horse; upon Epona, his faithful chestnut mare, he must have seemed half man and half horse, rather like the centaurs of legend. He had the pale skin and long pointed ears of a Hylian—the latter pierced with twin silver rings—and long blond hair that he kept tucked into his trademark green cap. Mido, a childhood bully, had taunted him about his hair; supposedly when he grew it out from behind he was identical to Ellen, a creepy recluse whose hair was the same shade. Link wore in his travels today what he nearly always wore—a green tunic over a white shirt, simple breeches, leather guantlets, and tough leather boots.

On his back hung the sheathed custom blade he had purchased from the forgery in Termina, which he personally felt rivaled the best the Royal Family could find in Castle Town. Clipped to the sheathe hung his battered and scratched Hylian shield, which had accompanied him throughout his many travels, quite a few of which had ended with pitched battles against some malevolent creature or other. Clipped to his belt or on several space-bending pouches sprinkled over his person were enough weapons to arm a small army, all of which he had found or purchased in his travels. Daggers, a boomerang, a strange device with a hook, chain, and spring-loaded trigger called a hookshot, a large battle hammer, and many more outlandish weapons all resided in their own pouches. These pouches, however, were special, perhaps more so than the weapons themselves; they warped space in such a way that a three-foot-long hammer could fit into a three-by-five inch sack of leather while only weighing a fraction of its normal weight. Reduced weight or no, he still weighed quite a lot with his full armament on his person. Thankfully he had developed a strength disproportionate to his average height over his travels, though he was all lean, sinewy muscle.

As he proceeded further into the forest, Epona's grass-muffled hoofbeats striking a tempo for his thoughts, he could not shake a strange, ominous feeling that something was wrong, along with a sense of déjà vu. The latter was understandable—he had traveled this route often—but magnified, and the reason for both lurked at the edges of his mind like phantoms half glimpsed in the murky depths of midnight fog.

These feelings hounded him throughout the long day until he finally made camp at dark and retired to his blankets, too unnerved by his instinct to disarm himself, and thus leaving his sword under his hand. If he hurried, he would reach his home at noon tomorrow. As his eyes shut and his mind drifted into sleep he had no idea of the true danger his beloved land had become embroiled in.

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Those same eyes snapped open again during the night. Link didn't know what had awakened him, but long experience had told him to trust his instincts and now they were calling for caution. Reaching into remains of the fire, he laid one gauntleted palm gingerly on the coals, then with more pressure. No heat; he had been asleep for a few hours, at least.

He threw off the blanket and sat up. Patting himself down, he assured himself that he had not been robbed. His sword was still beneath his palm, and Epona stood nearby, eying him with still-sleepy eyes. Now kneeling, he rolled up his bedding and lashed it to the saddle while surreptitiously running a careful gaze over his surroundings. Nothing moved in the darkness; there was no wind to stir the trees and ruffle the leaves, no wildlife to make any sounds at all.

That wasn't good.

Something was here, something was lurking perhaps behind a tree or in a bush, something not native to the forest. Even at night there should be movement, life in the forest. But now? Nothing. Some creature was scaring the nocturnal life into quiet submission.

Saddling Epona, he turned to pick up anything he may have left behind—and there it was.

It stood four feet tall at the shoulder, covered in matted, grimy fur reminiscent of a rabid dog. It crouched on all fours, long hooked claws prominent on paws like a cougar's. Shredded ears like that of a cat and an ugly, squashed snout over a snarling mouth filled with teeth like razors adorned it's lowered head, while its body was covered in lean muscle like that of a fine greyhound, only larger. It reminded Link vaguely of a rabid Wolfo, yet more muscular and slightly more feline.

He felt Epona stiffen. Link's sword hand slowly—very slowly—reached for the hilt of his sword, which he had erroneously sheathed to put on Epona's saddle. Just as his middle finger felt the corded hilt the beast inhaled mightily, pointed its entire body at Link, and began to howl.

For a second it wasn't too bad, sounding much like an amplified wolf, but almost instantaneously the howl grew louder and higher into a deafening unearthly shriek. Clapping both hands to his ears, he tried to cry out in pain but couldn't hear himself over the deafening wall of noise. He was suddenly dizzy; Link staggered, still holding his ears in agony—and then it stopped, and all he could hear was a ringing in his ears much like after an explosion inches from your ear. Still off balance, he opened his eyes in time to see the beast mid-pounce.

There was no time to arm himself. Link instinctively shielded his face with one arm and felt the claws rake across the leather and scratch his skin. Staggering back, he knew that falling down beneath it would mean the end of the proclaimed Hero of Time. He twisted away from the creature while simultaneously shoving with one arm and driving his other fist into its side, altering its flight path just enough to avoid being eviscerated by its deadly claws. It landed awkwardly, clearly shocked by it's would-be prey's reactions, and tripped over a protruding tree root.

Flipping back and away from the temporarily distracted creature Link had just enough time to draw his sword and shield before it pounced again. However, this time he was ready. Instead of just defending with his shield he drove it forward, putting his superior weight into the forward lunge. The creature was obviously used to proceeding through sheer tenacity and brawn if its prey-stunning howl failed and was unaccustomed to its prey fighting instead of fleeing. It slammed full-on into his shield with a wet crunch and fell dazedly to the ground. Link took the advantage at face value and swung his blade, taking off its head in a crimson fountain. He hopped back out of the way of its bloody spray and warily watched it twitch until its heart stopped.

Stepping forward again, he took the moment to study this new adversary. In the sparse moonlight its blood seemed black, a dead beast lying in a pool of liquid tar. "Well," he muttered to himself, "I guess that wasn't too bad." Then he saw the rest of them.

There had to be at least ten, all standing mutely about fifteen feet away. He could hear the distant cries of more, apparently drawn by the scent of blood.

They all tensed like cats about to pounce on a lone, helpless mouse.

"Oh, shit."

Then they roared as one and moved for the kill.

Link leapt to the side, avoiding being gored by a hair's breadth, then brought his sword down vertically, slamming a creature to the ground mid-pounce. A crimson spurt turned black in the moonlight sprayed his green tunic—dammit! Mentally berating himself for his split second of foolish vanity he swiveled and met fearsome jaws with his shield. The impact caused him to slip in the newly created blood pool and stumble, the beast's jaws still locked around the edge of his shield. Its claws scratched for purchase on its steel surface as he lifted it into the air, exposing its stomach beneath the edge of his shield. He slashed horizontally, cutting it in half; blood and entrails dumped to the ground as the top half still clung to his shield doggedly in death before Link managed to shake it off.

Behind him he heard Epona whinny. Turning quickly, he saw her rear into the air and bring her front hooves down on the back of an attacking creature. Link could hear its bones snap and crunch from his vantage point ten feet away. Luckily this turn brought an attacking creature into his sight; he parried its slashing claws with his sword and heard it screech in pain as its paw was forcibly amputated. It was stunned by the pain long enough to let him stab it through the throat; its howl dwindled to a dying gurgle and silence. Link then simultaneously broke the jaw of another with his shield and slid free his blade, then took off its head with a chung!

Hearing a snarl behind him, Link instinctively ducked and slashed upward, disemboweling the leaping creature above even as its jaws snapped shut on the air where his throat had just been. Hot blood spattered his face and wet his hair with its stickiness. With a grimace of distaste Link stood and slashed at the skull of another offending beast. The creature leapt back with surprising agility and pounced, trying to catch him off guard. Sidestepping smartly, Link sliced open its side as it soared past; its entrails cushioned its landing as its yellow eyes hazed over in death. These things aren't very smart, are they?

Even as he mentally mocked their one-track minds Link felt a line of pain race along his sword arm. With a growl he jerked his arm to safety and clobbered the offending creature with his shield. Both were undeterred; as the fanged creature opened its mouth for a snap Link fed it his sword, the tip bursting from the back of its skull with a bloody gout. Pulling it free, he took a moment to assess his arm. A long, shallow tear through leather and skin extended nearly six inches along his forearm and slowly but steadily dripped blood. Link tightened his grip on the hilt, feeling a burning sensation but no more. I'll be fine.

He looked up and blinked, confused. More furry attackers had arrived and were tearing into the corpses, literally. Flesh ripped wetly and bone crunched between their jaws; several fought over a single corpse, shaking it like a rag doll before it split into chunks, blood spraying and shreds of flesh flying. Swallowing his disgust, Link saw an opportunity he could not afford to waste.

Only one creature stood between him and Epona; as it pounced he stabbed, spitting it through the mouth and along its spine. Pushing off the corpse with his boot Link returned his shield to his back and leapt onto Epona's saddle. He pulled an apple-sized black orb from a pouch at his belt, pressed his thumb to the fuse--lighting it--and tossed it over his shoulder and into the frenzy behind him. Digging his heels into Epona's side he cried "Yah!" and felt her leap into a gallop away from the feeding creatures and towards his humble abode.

A split second later the bomb exploded with a great bang and a flash of flame, throwing the feeding creatures in all directions. Several crashed into trees and were stunned or broke bones; three were close enough to the blast to be shredded by flying shrapnel and were dead before they hit the ground; nearly all were singed, disoriented, and temporarily blind and deaf.

However, three were far enough away from the explosion to escape its adverse effects and give chase.

It took all of Link's skill as a rider to dart between the trees while maintaining speed. On the other hand, his pursuers seemed to be made for such chases. They bounded spryly after him, rippling between shafts of quicksilver moonlight and curtains of shadow.

Soon they were close enough that Link could hear their rapid-fire panting and see the bloodlust in their gleaming yellow eyes. One pulled alongside Epona, clearly intent on tackling Link from the saddle. It was too low; if Link dared lean down to kill it he would fall, hit a tree, or be pulled free of the saddle by another. All three scenarios meant near-certain death. Sheathing his sword, Link reached for the strange contraption at his belt. Gripping the device—called a hookshot—in one hand and the reins in the other he pointed the sharp barbed tip at the mutt's throat and pulled the trigger.

One of the hookshot's twin springs released, shooting the barbed tip at surprising speed while trailing chain from a spool on the hookshot's handle. It pierced the creature through the throat, causing it to stagger, trip and roll haphazardly along the ground, a victim of its own momentum. However, it was not yet dead; that was achieved after Link pulled the trigger a second time, which fired the second spring, reeled the tip back in, and ripped it—along with much of the mutt's throat—from its dying frame.

The other two creatures continued their pursuit, apparently unaffected by their comrade's death. Through the leafy canopy overhead he could see the sky turn pink with tidings of the oncoming dawn. Do they only hunt at night? he wondered.

Low branches slapped at his face and chest with desperate urgency. Shielding his face and squinting, it was more Epona than he that steered her away from a thick tree and thus a painful collision and subsequent death. The sky seemed to grow brighter and the foliage less dense. Was I closer to the forest's edge than I thought, or is Epona just hauling ass? Heh, probably both.

Link's stomach flipped as Epona jumped a fallen tree. Behind him one of the creatures used it as a springboard, hurtling through the air at his face with jaws and claws outstretched. Twisting smoothly to face it he straightened his arm and pointed the hookshot directly at the creature. With no time to think, he pulled the trigger and jerked the reins to the right.

The hookshot's deadly namesake hit dead-on at the base of the creature's throat and burst out the back, still trailing chain. The mutt's graceful leap turned into an awkward crash as Epona shied to the right, causing the mortally wounded furry missile to miss by a hair. The hookshot clicked in Link's hand as it ran out of chain, then nearly ripped him from the saddle as the dead beast was pulled along by its skewered throat. Link righted himself in the saddle and pulled the trigger again, ripping the barbed tip free of the creature's throat and reeling it home.

The trees were spaced fairly far apart now, admitting the dawn light benevolently through the now incomplete leafy ceiling overhead. The sole beast skidded to a halt with a terrified whimper, blinked with the air of a blinded owl, then turned tail and fled into the darker forest. Slowing Epona to a halt, Link thought, Well, that was somewhat anticlimactic. I guess they are nocturnal. He wiped off the bloody hookshot and replaced it at his hip. Still, that was strange. I've never seen those before. He rubbed at his slightly bloodshot eyes, thinking, That was one helluva wake up call. I'll sleep at home, I guess.

Returning Epona to a trot, he headed south and somewhat west, parallel to the forest edge. He toyed halfheartedly with asking Zelda about the new appearances but soon decided that he was overreacting. After all, they could just lurk in that patch of forest for all he knew. Link bound his wounded forearm with a rag often utilized for such a purpose then settled in for the short remainder of the ride home.

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Link arrived home a short hour later. It was a modest home for one with such a lofty title, but it was more of a home to him than a room in Hyrule Castle could ever hope to be. It shared a small clearing with a stable for Epona and a stream-fed pond that he often used for a bath. The house itself was a simple wooden cabin he had built from trees that had been felled from around the edges of the clearing.

Dismounting, he let Epona drink her fill from the stream and then led her to the stables. Only after she was situated there did Link walk to his door and step through. The inside of his home was as simple as the outside. His house contained only one room, about twenty feet long and wide. In the corner farthest from the door his bed beckoned enticingly. A few simple cabinets and drawers furnished the room; a table was tucked into one corner, round and well-worn. All of it he had made by hand. Pegs covered the wall across from the door, perches for the myriad weapons and masks he had accumulated over his many travels. They stood empty now, but not for long. The corner with the aforementioned round table served as his little makeshift kitchen; two cabinets nestled alongside one another there, one usually stocked with food ingredients. The other held silverware, dishes and such things in the bottom half; the top contained his little on-hand store of liquor and other alcoholic drinks. More was stored in the basement below. Though Link didn't drink much compared to many people, he had acquired many fine drinks throughout his travels as well as weapons. All was covered in a year's worth of dust.

With a wistful sigh he began the housework that always followed a protracted trip.

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At the same time Link arrived home something else arrived in Hyrule.

Ingo had woken late this fine morning and was justifiably panicked as he threw on his overalls and boots and fairly flew down the stairs and out the door, skipping breakfast. Today was his turn to muck out the stalls, and if Malon caught him sleeping in he could catch one of the fiery redhead's infamous tirades.

He snatched a pitchfork and bucket from the shed and fairly sprinted for the stables. Mercifully, Malon seemed to have slept in as well. With a sigh of relief he leaned the pitchfork against the wall to open the door. As his calloused palm grasped the brass knob he twitched. Ingo had spent eighteen years on this ranch, leaving only to sell milk when Malon or Talon was sick. In all this time he had gotten used to sounds on the ranch; chickens clucking, horses neighing, cows mooing. But he could have sworn that he just heard a crackle, like muted thunder, only the sky was a clear, vivid blue without a cloud in sight.

Shaking his head, Ingo turned the knob—and heard it again, this time more distinctly. The hair stood up on the back of his neck as he looked around warily; nothing seemed amiss. Then it crackled again, this time accompanied by a small flash in the middle of the now-empty corral.

"That does it," he mumbled, dropping the bucket and grabbing the pitchfork more like a spear than a barn tool. He strode nervously towards the corral, mustache twitching. At the entrance he paused and looked around the corral. Another crackle clearly coming from in front of him beckoned him onward. Still, he hesitated. Why did he always have to be alone when creepy things happened? A fifth crackle closely followed by a sixth spurned him onward. The noise continued in intensity and frequency; he could definitely tell that it was electrical now. As he neared the center of the corral, and thus the ranch, he froze.

The electric crackling that had drawn him here suddenly ascended into a full-blown roar as a small, pulsating dot appeared about four feet above the ground. The sound only grew louder as the dot expanded into a slowly growing and throbbing sphere, seemingly made of what looked like black lightning twisted into a sphere like a god's plaything.

Ingo realized that the wind was blowing rapidly away from the pulsating thing; he managed to take two shuddering steps backward before a loud roar made him jump and fall on his rear. Trembling in terror, he stared as the sphere flattened into a disk. The black energy, still crackling and roaring with malicious splendor, spread into a circle, leaving a mirror-smooth disk of black nothing rimmed by that crackling energy.

The nothing wasn't nothing; it shifted, distorted like a blind man pressing against a curtain, and then the not-nothing ruptured. Black matter like malevolent, intelligent ink spilled forth and rushed for Ingo.

He only had time to scream once, and then he was gone.

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Link finished cleaning house around dusk. Nonperishable food from the basement now stocked the "kitchen" cabinet; he had gotten rid of the worst of the dust with a rag; his massive assortment of shields, swords, masks, and other miscellaneous weapons stood polished and proud upon their pegs; he had bathed in the stream, and washed most of his clothes; and many other chores of that particular vein.

Now, as he stripped for bed, the persistent ominous feeling and the sense of déjà vu returned from their niche at the back of his skull. Still, he could not pin down their cause. With a scowl-turned-yawn he slipped beneath the covers of his simple bed, fatigued from a long, long day.

It wasn't until he let the thoughts flow from his mind and his eyes drift shut in that hazy not-quite-sleep daze did part of the solution come clear. His eyes snapped back open.

He felt like he had felt this before because he had.

This was the sinking feeling he had felt when he had stepped out of the Temple of Time after his seven years of sleep, stepped out into a world that he had once known but had gone to hell.

Perhaps he should contact Zelda after all.

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