Tears

Zelda is not mine.

She wept.

Her tears were sliding down, flattening the tiny, delicate beige feathers on her face. The tears were accompanied by an occasional light sob. The ruthless tears welled up in her crimson eyes and spilt down her face, reaching her chin and then dropping onto the rocks below, soaked up by the thin layer of thirsty dirt until they were mere, barely noticable stains. Her auburn hair dropped around her face like a veil.

The odd stray tear missed the ground. and, instead, landed on the Wind Waker, sitting on Medli's lap. The tear slid down to the tapered point of the baton and dropped,
effortlessly, onto the cliffs on which Medli sat, mourning. The warm tears of fear, of sorrow, of loss, rejected by the cold, unfeeling baton. Her loss, her sadness, rejected.

Suddenly, she hurled the Wind Waker, the one thing that had floated ashore after the shipwreck in which Link was lost, onto the ground. She rose her foot to stomp it into the dust, but stopped. What could this baton have done? It was a magical baton, but still, just a baton.

She sat back down. Link. He had known the dangers of the waters he was braving. He had KNOWN. And yet, even knowing the loss Medli would face if he, himself, were lost, he went anyway. Didn't he care/ Didn't he care about the girl weeping here?

She picked up the Wind Waker and held it to her chest. She held it dear to her, this memory.

--

Geez, why do 3 of my stories have to be about either Link or Medli dying? Seeya.