Awakening

The harsh light stung as his eyelids creaked open. The brilliant light slowly dimmed, revealing a view of a clouded sky. His head felt heavy and his body felt weak. Slowly, he let his head fall to the side and saw that he was lying in the middle of a dirt path with thick forests on either side. Debris from a destroyed wagon littered the ground around him. The man knew that something bad had happened to him and that he needed to flee as soon as possible before whatever it was that did this returned. He struggled to lift his head and body to sit up. To his horror, his green tunic was stained with dried darkened blood. He quickly felt around his torso for a wound, but quickly realized that the wound was from a blow to his head when he felt the dried blood clinging to his blinking eyes.

As he regained his composure, he heard a distant roar echo through the trees. The man hushed his breath and listened. The soft noise of the wind passing through the verdant landscape filled his ears with nary a sound of life beyond the odd cry of a bird. The source of the roar seemed to be far off, but still too close for comfort. The man eased himself to his feet and took a step only to realize that his ankle was sprained, making walking a painful affair. To his advantage, his tough brown leather boots served as a brace for his worn ankle.

He carefully stepped down the road, not sure of where he was headed. He only knew that he had to put some distance between the wreckage of the wagon and himself if he wanted to live. Again, the roar reverberated through the woods, only louder than before. The man instinctively reached for the sword on his back, but realized that he was divested of his sword and even his shield. He frantically felt around his tunic and his belt for anything to use as a weapon, but found nothing but emptied pouches on his belt. Sensing that his situation had become desperately grim, he began moving faster, ungracefully limping along the trail. The roar blasted through the trees even louder. He knew that staying on the road at this point would be the end of him and turned off the trail and into the trees, hoping to evade detection, should the source of the roar draw near.

The man grunted with every step as he endured the sharp and painful sensation that ailed his ankle. The forest underbrush thickened as he hobbled along, threatening to trip him as the ferns and weeds snagged his feet. Suddenly, a thunderous roar shattered the uneasy murmur of the forest. The man fearfully looked back in the direction of the noise, but could barely see what might had been there, for he tripped on an unearthed branch and fell to the ground. He scrambled to recover, but stopped himself short as a peculiar sound caught his ear. It was difficult to distinguish from the blowing wind, but the sound vibrated on the leaves. It was a rhythmic growl that sent a chill down his spine.

He raced to his feet and started again. The low growl continued to fluctuate, almost in timing with his heart beat. His sharp breathing added to the cacophony as his foot falls provided the percussive beat. At once, the orchestra was abruptly interrupted by an incredible boom that shook the earth, nearly throwing the man to the ground. Whatever it was drew ever near. He picked up the pace of his limp, desperate to escape. If the source of the noise caught up to him, he would not survive.

The eyes of the man managed to spy what appeared to be a distant structure in the midst of overgrowth. As he steadily approached, he made out a wooden building surrounded and nearly concealed by overgrowth. At last, he had found hope for survival. He limped to the doorsteps and tried to open the door, but it was jammed as if something barred the other side. The low growl grew louder and severer. The green-clad man frantically pushed against the door, hoping to jar it loose. The sinister sound grew louder still until he could hear the sound of breaking brush. He gave the door a fierce push and it gave way at last. He stumbled into the structure and fell to the floor. As he looked up, he heard the door quietly shut behind him. He sat up and turned around to see an old man with a long white bear, wearing large orange robes, standing in front of the closed door.

The old man placed one finger over his lips, signaling to the man not to speak. The man remained on the floor as he watched the old man move with a tired yet graceful gait through the cozy abode, extinguishing every lamp and candle and leaving only the dim gray light that poured through the window shutters to light the house. The old man at last took a seat on a chair and invited the man to sit in an unoccupied chair near him.

A regular boom filled the silence of the house, as did the growling. The man ached, yet his body remained painfully tense as the moments passed. He could hear the sounds of the trees shaking and snapping nearby. The predatory growl turned into a frustrated tone as the source moved through the area. Suddenly, the entire house shook as a roar saturated the air, followed by a crashing noise. As the sounds echoed off into the woods, the relative silence of the forest returned.

The man let out a relieved sigh as the danger passed. The old man stood up once more and the candles and lamps in the dwelling reignited on their own. The elder stood in front of the man and examined him carefully, noting the tears in his dirty green tunic and the dried blood that led to a coagulated wound on his forehead, slightly covered by his wet, matted brown bangs. The man unconsciously withheld his breath, uncomfortable with the idea of breaking the silence of the moment. After a moment, the old man turned from the man and to a nearby wooden table, picked up a cloth, and the moved to a wooden pail of water to soak the cloth. He brought the cloth to the man's face and scrubbed away the blood and cleaned the wound on his head. The old man set aside the blood-soaked rag and took hold of the man's face, forcing open one of his eyelids. The man reflexively reeled away, but the old man hushed him with a slight whisper as if to say that he posed him no harm. The old man peered into the man's eyes, noting every feature of his icy blue iris. His curiosity satisfied, the elder let go of the man's face and grabbed the bloodied rag from the table, taking it to a hook to hang it. The old man then turned again to the man.

"Forgive my intrusiveness, I'm sure you understand," the old man said as he took a seat in his chair. "It has been quite a while since I have seen anyone."

Perplexed, the man asked, "I'm not sure I get your meaning."

The old man raised one of his white, bushy eyebrows. "Just where did you come from, lad?"

"I'm not sure," he said as he held his head, "I know I'm not from this place, but I can't quite recall where I came from or why I'm here."

The old man's weathered eyes narrowed at the sight of the man holding his battered head. "I see, you suffered a disorienting blow to the head."

"I'm not certain, but when I awoke earlier, I was lying on the road in this state amongst the wreckage of a wagon, with all of my belongings taken away."

"It must have been one of the bands of thieves. You are very fortunate to have survived such an encounter."

"If I may ask," the man began, "Why did you look into my eye in such a manner as earlier?"

"Shapeshifters," the old man plainly stated. "They are hideous creatures that masquerade as decent Hylians. Their one tell is the unnatural color and shape of their eyes."

"Why didn't you just tell me what you were doing?"

"If you were indeed a Shapeshifter, the very sound of my voice would have alerted your cohorts." The old man shifted slightly in his seat. "As for why I kept you silent, it was so that the creature stalking you did not return." The elder suddenly took notice of the way the man sat with one of his legs stretched out. "Is your leg well?"

"I am afraid not. It was injured when I awoke."

The old man stood up and walked to the man. He held out his hand. "Let me help you to a bed. You need to rest."

"But I do not want to intrude on your abode," the man spoke as he began to stand. He lost balance as soon as he left the chair, but the old man caught his hand and steadied him.

"Young man, you will die far before your time if you do not take this chance to heal."

The man reluctantly nodded in agreement as he followed the old man's lead to the bed and lied down. "Sage, what is your name?"

"Call me Aldwyn. And what do you call yourself, brave sir?"

"I am Link."