Ilia could not be lost.

She knew these woods like the back of her hand. She had entered them almost every day of her life for the past ten years. Even before she could walk her aunt or her uncle or her father had carried her through on their backs. Beside her, the man focused on untangling the long loop of leather from the wooden bit and the studded bridle. Ilia wondered if he was thinking of strangling her with it. He had enough free leather to do it. He also had a bowstring he could wrap around her neck, and his bare hands.

Ilia put a hand on the horse's neck for comfort. She could not be lost… But they should have found the trail by now. At the very least, she should have heard a Bulblin horn blast or a stampede of hooves, but aside from the singing of birds and the jinging of the horse's bridle in the stranger's hands, Ilia heard nothing. This deep in the woods, she should have heard the chattering of monkeys.

But there was nothing.

Ilia's hand tightened in the horse's red mane. It moved closer to her. Her feet started to slow. How long had she walked? What about the horse? The stranger showed no sign of tiring, but he had been pushing the poor creature to its limits, and if she went on much more, she would faint. Her head was spinning. Her throat was dry. Her chest ached. They both needed water. It was time to confess that she had no idea where they were. The sooner she did, the sooner… What? He was just as lost as she was, and...

The stranger tripped over his own feet. He grinned, about to laugh at his clumsiness. Ilia wondered what he thought was so funny but then she remembered—he had downed a whole flask of rum. Perhaps anything would be funny after such excess. She watched him straighten himself. The grin slipped from his lips before he let himself look her in the eye.

It was time; best tell him now while he was drunk and more likely to laugh. She swallowed. She tried to keep the fear out of her voice, "I'm lost."

A little tremor shook through his face. Shock? Amusement? Anger? Ilia was not sure, it was gone too quickly. He raised his eyebrows a little too high and tilted his head a little too far. It seemed to her he did not care at all, "Oh?"

Ilia looked forward with a huff. Of course he did not care. He did not have to take her all the way to Arcadia if she was lost in the woods. Ilia looked at the spread of trees before her. Yew, oak, maple… She could identify them all, "I've covered every inch of this forest. I know it like the back of my hand. I can't be lost."

He was silent.

"I'm just… shaken." she soothed herself. She shook her head to try and jolt herself back to reality—it just made her head pound and toss. She used the horse to keep herself stable as she started to walk forward again. She needed to focus. He was preoccupied with untangling the reins, so he would miss the trail if they encountered it. If she was too tired to think straight, so would she.

Eventually, she found water. A little spring bubbled up from a bed of stones. It was perfectly round, and free of dirt and fish, as if the goddesses had put a basin of water out for them, like they were nothing more than their pets.

Ilia had never seen this place before. She knew every inch of Faron woods—and this was not some small little spit of water she could have easily missed. This was a pool big enough for her to relax in. But it felt so fake—stones did not naturally fall into a round hole under the edges of white rock springs like a constantly flowing bathtub. The horse thought nothing of it. It tugged its mane free of Ilia's hand and dipped his mouth to the water. Neither did the stranger. He untied the drawstring of his cuffs and went to the far end of the spring, where the water spilled over the edge of the pool to clean his bloody sleeves.

"This… This isn't what I was talking about."

"It's water. Take what you can." he stood up, fingers working quickly to roll up his wet sleeve as he continued his circle around the spring.

Ilia did not like that answer. She gave the spring a wary look, but she followed the horse's example and cupped her hands under the fountain in the white rock, catching the water before it splashed into the pool below. She let it flow over her dirty hands to clean them, then she drank. The water was cold, and tasted of stone. Ilia splashed what was left on her dirty face. The cuts burned when the water touched them, and she was pulled back to crashing and tumbling blindly through the woods. The memory was fresh. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She kept her hands pressed over her face. She heard the man move closer and the sound of water splashing. A breeze blew past, chilling her chest and shoulders and she realized her tunic was soaked through. She dropped her hands. He was watching her, but pretending not to.

Ilia forced her tears down and made her lip sit still. She would not let herself cry in front of him. Tears he would try to dry, sobs he would try to comfort in the only way he cared to. She would not let him. She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth and forced her breathing to steady. The flood of tears was stopped, but it was not gone.

She distracted herself with dipping her feet into the water. It was cold and she realized just how terribly her feet ached. As she watched the dirt that had been caked between her toes and at her heel drift away, she thought of sitting on the jetty with Beth just an hour or so before. She squeezed her eyes shut. She would not cry in front of him. Anyone else, her aunt, her father, even Fado she would tolerate at this point—not him.

She picked at the splinter in her foot. It came out with a little blood and a little pain. She splashed water on the scrapes on her shins and knees. She bent forward to clean her arm. The bruise at her side ached. Her torn tunic dropped. She looked to the stranger.

He was not watching her. He was fiddling with something at his neck. Before Ilia could wonder, he wrestled himself out of his green vest. She thought he would offer it to her, but he laid it over his leg and pulled off his loose shirt. Ilia collected herself to run, but he did not throw himself at her. He did not even look. He just extended his arm backwards and said quickly, "Put this on. I should have offered it sooner."

Scars, Ilia swallowed with the shock, there were scars on his back, long and straight as a knife's blade. She could not imagine who put them there; but it had not happened just once. Her eyes traced the longest one that cut across both shoulders before she reminded herself she would not like him staring at her, she had no right to gawk at him. She closed her fingers around the fabric and tugged it free.

She did not ask, she was curious, she did care, but she did not want to know. She pushed the image from her mind and dropped his shirt over her head before removing her own, squirming out of the torn garment awkwardly. Though it smelled of sweat and rum and some woody musk she did not recognize and did not like, it covered her better than her torn shirt did, even with wet sleeves.

"Thank you."

"Just wish I had a clean one for you." he said. Ilia turned around to see him putting on his woolen vest. He did not bother to lace it up again. He glanced back at her, just long enough to make sure she was still there, then he stood and stretched. His vest shifted and Ilia could see the muscles flexing at the small of his back, the ridges of his spine as his skin shifted, and a scar peeking out like a snake, "I'll... get that fire going, then."

And he walked off. Ilia twisted to watch him go, when she could not see him she listened to the branches movning. She stood up and pressed herself against the rock to watch him reach up and break a branch to mark his trail, and then she watched until she could not see him clearly, until she could no longer hear his feet crunching in the leaves. She watched until he was gone, and she was free to run…

She looked around, searching for anything she recognized. She saw nothing. She had no idea where she was. She would only get herself more lost, more thirsty, more hungry. He might bother to look for her, he might not. He might find her—King Bulblin might find her first. She best thing she could do was curl up and cry in peace. She eased herself down into the grass, her back to the white rock. He was gone. She could cry all she wanted.

But the tears did not come.

She frowned—she had the perfect opportunity, and she had been about to fall to pieces a moment before. But no, nothing. She was completely fine now. She stood back up again. She picked up her shirt from the pool's edge and smoothed it out. She could make herself useful, there were plenty of wild plants to gather in Faron woods. Maybe she could find another apple tree, some wild carrot or berries. As she walked past the horse huffed, then whinnied to get her attention. He shook his head, his made flying. He counted the ground before reaching his head back and trying to tug the saddle pad off with his teeth. He could not reach.

"How rude of him, to steal you and then leave you saddled up here." Ilia smiled. She unbuckled the thick leather strap and had to stand on her toes to get the saddle in both hands, only to collapse under its weight. While the horse neighed in approval and pranced away, shaking free of the saddle pad, Ilia struggled to drag the saddle to drier ground. She carried it to the edge of the clearing, where two stumps sat between a cleared circle of dirt and a ring of stones. The few steps had left her out of breath. She retrieved the saddle pad from the water's edge and used it as a cushion as she sat down on one of the stumps to catch her breath..

She returned her attention to her ruined shirt, tying the torn ends of the shoulder and side seams to make a makeshift sling for herself. It was not ideal, but she could hold more in the shirt than she could in her arms. She walked in the opposite direction, following the stranger's lead and breaking small branches as she went to mark her way back.

She waited for some memory to grab hold of her heart and send her to tears again, but none would. The memory of King Bulbin pinning her to the gorge wall made her numb now, not sad, not angry. Maybe it was the dull throbbing of the bruise at her side or the stinging, clean scratches on her arms and legs reminding her that it was in the past, or maybe it was the road to Arcadia stretching out before her and the knowledge that he would never be able to lay a finger on her again, but tears would not come.

"As long as its past." she told herself as she knelt down to pull a group of red mushrooms from the base of a walnut tree. The branches were too tall for her to reach, but there were enough to nibble on scattered on the ground, and if she marked the trail well enough on the way back they could find it again in the morning.

She kept her ears open for King Bulbin, but she thought he would never find her now. She was beyond his reach. She reached up to snap another branch as she picked her way through the dense trees. She was lucky to find three apple trees growing in a row. She picked them clean and went on her way, looking down at her horde of goods with a spring in her step. Even if he came back empty-handed, they would still eat well. She only had to worry about feeding two people. It was refreshing.

Two people. The thought pricked her like a thorn. She thought about the children in Ordon. They might not eat so well from now on. She stared at the bright red apples and she felt guilty, and she looked to where she thought Ordon might be. The nights were getting colder. Winter was drawing nearer every day, how would they get firewood without her?

They would not be able to get it for themselves. She was only able to get it because King Bulblin had let her do it. He did not let anyone else take what they needed from the woods. Just her. Had that been the point of his bullying, to let Ilia know only she was allowed to scavenge in the woods, to frighten her into never choosing Fado or escape? Her hands tightened on her makeshift sling. They would freeze in the winter… if King Bublin did not kill them to punish her first.

"No." she assured herself, "No, they'll figure something out."

She followed her trail of broken branches back to the camp. The stranger—her guide, Ilia reminded herself, sat on one of the stumps with a little fire blooming to life on the circle of stones. She crossed behind him to the water's edge, she started to wash the apples and mushrooms, checking them for signs of worms. The water would wash the dirt away. The walnut shells were thick, only a rock would be able to get through them.

When she came to the fireside again the stranger was skewering half of a freshly slaughtered wood pigeon onto a stick he had whittled down. One was already roasting. To save time, he had skinned them instead of plucking them, slicing it between the breast and thigh so the meat would cook faster. The sight of its discarded remains turned her stomach. It made her think of her chickens back home. Now, of all times, her eyes chose to burn and mist. Ilia bit down on her lip. She did not want to cry in front of him. She sat down opposite him, "I never asked your name."

"You had other things on your mind." he smiled and stuck the second portion into the ground by the flame, "Call me Archer."

"Archer." she echoed. She unrolled the wet sleeves of his tunic and hoped the heat of the fire would dry them out. She slipped from the stump to her knees in the circle and dragged her sling of food with her. She brushed the stones surrounding the fire clean and set the mushrooms and apples down to cook in the heat.

She put herself back on the stump and watched the fire. It was better than glancing up at him and seeing him stare intently at her, or glancing up at him and having her eyes drawn to the line of his shoulder or his bare chest. He had given her his shirt on purpose. She could have just worn his vest over her torn shirt. She should not have let him do that. Her eyes started to well up again. She hoped he did not notice.

But he did.

"So…" he asked cautiously, "Why so keen to leave?"

Ilia did not answer. She did not want to answer because she knew she would start crying. She did not want to do that. Not in front of him. She stared at the apples and tried to ignore him.

He would not be ignored.

"If I'm going to be taking you all the way to Arcadia, don't I have a right to know?"

"Yes."

"So?"

"I… I just do. I'll never get a chance to go." It was not convincing. She knew it was not; she did not bother to try. Archer was quiet. It was not judgemental, it was patient. It still made her angry, "What?"

"That's a stolen horse." he reminded her, "If you're going to running away, is it worth hanging over?"

"Get rid of the horse, then."

Behind Archer's back, Kolya's head shot up. Its green eyes fixed on her in horror.

"No." Archer refused, "He's perfect and I am keeping him."

Ilia watched the horse relax. The apples started to smell sweet. The mushrooms were starting to char. She turned them over and did not say anything. He continued to press her, "It should be something more groundbreaking than a broken vase."

He was right, "It is."

"If your father's going to come after me with a pitchfork…"

Her father was not that driven, "He won't."

"Or if a fiance is going to accuse me of anything improper…"

Ilia did not think Fado would care that much, "He won't."

"Or if one of those Bulblins is going to pursue us until the ends of the earth…"

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

"You killed someone!?"

Ilia looked up at him. He looked like he was actually, really shocked this time. His eyes were wide. His mouth was hanging open. He leaned away from her.

"No." she corrected him, "No, I'm asking you. You said you did not want to kill me. Not that you couldn't or wouldn't kill me. Just that you'd rather not."

"Oh—Oh, Ilia, is that why you've been so…?"

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

He straightened himself out and he did not meet her eyes for a while. He looked at the crumpled, bloody mess of gore at his left, then to the horse's saddle, his bow and quiver right beside it. Ilia blinked her tears away while he squirmed under her eyes.

"Tell the truth. Don't lie."

She did not know what she expected. On the one hand, he really did not seem like the type to end a person's life. On the other hand, part of her wanted him to say yes. He had enough knives to be a killer. She could see two of them already. On at his hip, one on his right arm. Knives and a bow and a quiverful of arrows. He could be.

"Yes." He still did not look at her, "Yes, I have. It was not in cold blood, if that puts you at ease. I was not paid to do it."

Now that she had heard it, she wanted to unhear it. She should not press the matter. She did not want to press the matter, but she did. She had too. She fixed her eyes on his, gnawing at her lip nervously, "Do you think you could kill a Bulblin with ten minions working under him? Strong enough to push a fully loaded cart off a cliff, or ride up at you swinging a solid steel war hammer twice the size of your head with one hand?"

"... I should hope I don't have to."

"Then you'll take me to Arcadia."

"I will take you to Arcadia." he agreed, "But where in Arcadia?"

"Ilium. She lives in Ilium."

He nodded, "Well, that's south. Very south. We've got all of Catalia, some of Moria, and most of Arcadia itself between her and us."

Ilia slouched down, that sounded like it would take years. She did not want it to take years.

"It is not a quick trip, to be sure. It will take us two months if the weather permits, a fortnight more if we are unlucky.

"So quick?" She could hardly believe it. The world was really so small? It was Irenas now. Her birthday was in Rutasmon. If he was telling the truth, she would arrive by Nabura. Before she was even seventeen, she would be there?

"That quick." His smile gained an edge. He sounded uneasy, "But it will not be an easy trip. Not everywhere we go will be as hospitable as Faron province. I won't ask you to do anything you aren't comfortable with..."

"You don't mean stealing." Her eyes narrowed. She was positive he was fishing for something else entirely. "Do you?"

He looked offended at first. His mouth opened to protest, but then he frowned and examined her coldly. Then he smiled. It was mischievous. She had seen Talo smile like that plenty of times. He had something biting to say, or something he thought was biting. He did not say it. Instead, he looked up at her from under his dark eyebrows, "Can you sing?"

"What?"

"I am past the age where I turn heads with my voice, but you? They'd sit for hours, and if you are any good, they will pay you. I can teach you songs. There will be time abundant between cities, and it will be an excellent way to teach you Catalian and Arcadian."

Ilia could barely read; how could she learn another language? Perhaps Archer could teach her the words, but she would never truly learn them. She had not raised her voice in song for years now. Once she knew King Bulblin would use any excuse he could to hound her, she had started to bite her cheek to stave off the urge. She had trained herself never to sing, not even to cheer herself up, "What if I can't?"

He was teasing, his eyes glowed and he smiled big. Ilia thought of Beth's big smile and glowing eyes. A hook twisted in her gut. "Perhaps you are good at holding very still? You're so small, I probably would not hit you when I throw knives."

She shrank back, pressing her knees together and shaking her head. Teasing or not, she would never agree to something like that! What if she rejected his advances on too many times and he decided to make it look like an accident? What if he just got too drunk to aim right? Too many risks! "I'll try singing."

"Oh…" he let his tongue snap against his teeth as he said it, his hand came to rest at his cheek, as if she had slapped him, "But I would have bought you a pretty new dress—no one wants to watch knives get thrown at an urchin, after all."

He might still have been teasing, but she did not want to owe him the cost of a dress, no matter how pretty it was. She could wear pretty dresses when she was safely in Arcadia and he was far away. She would rather be a bad singer in rags that dead in a pretty dress. "I will sing."

Archer chuckled. He turned his face down to the fire to check the meat, but he looked up at her under his lashes and black curls. "After the cost of food and lodging, you will receive fifty percent, which you can spend on what you wish."

She was sure that, mysteriously, there would be nothing left after food and lodging were taken care of. She did not need money anyway. She could work at her grandmother's inn. She would earn all the money she needed then. Talo made big promises. Talo could not keep those big promises. Archer was probably just the same. "Okay."

He turned the bird to cook the other side. It promised to be bland, but it did smell nice. She would not call it a proper meal, but even unseasoned meat was better than the stew of mushroom and turnips and stale bread she usually choked down. She had even grown sick of goat cheese these days—of course, goat cheese usually came with Fado and...

And there it was again. All that time on her own and she could only cry in front of him? Ilia wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned forward, hoping the heat of the fire would burn her tears away. They did not burn. Her next breath was staggering. She pressed a hand to her mouth to keep herself quiet. He was not looking at her. If she just kept quiet…

She leaned away from the fire. She was only singeing her eyebrows off. She covered her face with her hands. Her skin felt feverish because of how close she had come to the fire, so hot the tear that escaped her eye felt cold.

"Ilia…"

"No."

He said nothing.

Even if he did deliver her to Ilium, what if she wrote to Ordon and she never received a reply? Or even worse, heard that her aunt's letters had suddenly stopped without warning and her grandmother looked to her for an answer? Ilia would have to quietly carry that guilt for her entire life. Would she be capable of doing that? She could never tell her grandmother, before today she had been the girl her first daughter had died giving birth too. Today she was the selfish brat that had killed her youngest daughter, too. Killed her own father, her uncle, her cousin… Why would her grandmother welcome her into her home?

How could she even ask her too?

"I have to go back home."

Archer did not argue, "Eat first."

Ilia looked to the skewer of meat. Her hunger outweighed the fear she felt for Ordon, but it did not stop her from crying. She was careful to eat it slowly, she did not want to rush and choke because she was trying to eat and cry. Beside her, Archer was quiet. Ilia did not blame him; she had said she wanted to go to Arcadia. It was in his best interest to take her away from anyone who might come looking for him. Ordon was closer to Castletown than Ilium was. He might be re-considering killing her.

Ilia did not want to explain. She wanted to eat. It had been good advice. Whatever happened when they turned back, she could face it better on a full stomach. Archer tossed his used skewer into the flames and took an apple from the ring of stones. He hissed as it burned him. He moved the others back. Ilia took a mushroom for herself. It was a little burned, but still delicious.

Archer got to his feet abruptly. Ilia, jumped, thinking he was going to close his hands around her throat or stab her in the neck. When he did not, she asked, "Where are you going?"

He pointed up and past her to a tall oak tree that towered above the rest, "To determine our location."

"Are you sure you can?"

She did not want him to fall and kill himself. She could probably fashion something to drag him behind the horse comfortably if he was left alive but immobile, but she would rather he be walking when he came to Ordon. It would be easier for everyone if he was. He had a chance of disposing of King Bulblin if he was alive, and he would be able to go on his way. If he was a horse thief, she did not want to have him lounging in her bed for days, harboring a horse thief was just as lethal as being one. He might even be the type to pretend to be paralyzed just so he could have her attention.

"I was an acrobat for two years." He smiled down at her. "And a deckhand for six months before I came here. I can climb a tree."

Ilia was unconvinced. She frowned at his back as he crossed the clearing and headed to the pool of water, not the oak tree. That was something someone who was putting off the task at hand would do. She chewed her food and he cleaned his face and hands. Then he helped himself to the water.

Ilia did not want to watch him slip and fall to the ground, she also did not want to be sitting by the fire only to hear him scream... and fall to the ground. She could always cover her eyes if she had a little warning. She ate the last scraps of meat off the bones and threw her skewer into the fire. Archer got to his feet.

For a man with so much confidence, he sure does take his sweet time, Ilia thought as he stretched out his shoulders with a soft sigh. She splashed water on her face, and rubbed her fingers under the surface to clean them of the rendered fat and charred crumbs.

Archer marched towards the tree. Ilia followed. He stripped off his vest and let it drop on the ground, and Ilia realized his big show of things was not to delay climbing the tree. She frowned and watched the scars bend and warp as he stretched his back, bending himself from one side to the other. She wanted to grab a long stick from the fire and stab him in the side with it. She could also use his own knife.

He grabbed hold of the lowest branch and easily pulled himself on top of it. Ilia watched him pull himself from one branch to the next until the leaves were too thick. She pressed herself close to the trunk of the tree and craned her neck to see him. The branches became thinner and easier for his hands to close around, so he climbed faster. Ilia could hear him rustling the tree, but she could not see him. The noise stopped. It was quiet for a long time.

Ilia waited.

She looked back to the horse. The horse grazed. She looked back to the fire. The fire did not leap from its place. She looked back up to Archer. Archer was invisible.

She could not stand it anymore, "What do you see?"

"A lovely view, Ilia!" he shouted down, "I'll be down shortly. I know where we are."

Ilia waited for an answer that never came. Her heart started to pound; Ordon was burning. It had to be. She had not been able to smell the smoke of it because of the fire he had lit, or… The fire! It had led King Bulblin right to them and it was too late to run! Archer said nothing. Ilia's voice cracked, "Where? Where are we? Do you see Ordon at all?"

"Yes." he replied quickly. Ilia melted against the tree. "Not but four hours. Less if we aren't kind to the horse."

She tried not to cry tears of joy, "It's not on fire?"

"No. Not that I can see."

"You… you don't see anyone riding towards us?"

"Not a sign of them. I'm coming down now."

The rustling of leaves started again. It was more scary to watch him climb down than it had been to climb up, even if she was still rocking with the good news. Ordon was fine. It was alright. Maybe her father and had heard the commotion. Maybe he had finally given King Bulblin what he deserved. Maybe. Or maybe he had calmed him down with ale and a promise that he would have her in the end. Her father had promised her to Fado, after all. He did not take her opinion into consideration. Ilia pushed that thought from her head. No matter what her father had done, Archer might rid her of King Bulblin, and maybe he would still be willing to take her to Arcadia.

The Archer's feet lightly touched the ground. In a daze, he slipped back into his vest and took a moment to regain his breath before he walked back to the fire. He grabbed another baked apple before he kicked dirt over the flames. The fire died down. "We'll be there after sundown. I do hope your father won't be upset that I've ruined your dinner."

Ilia shook her head, "He probably ate with my aunt and uncle when he knew I would not be there to cook for him."

"I see." Archer whistled for the horse. The horse hurried over with a gleam in its eye, ready to squeeze in one last ride before the sun set. It bowed its head as Archer drapped the saddle pad over its back. With strength she envied, he hoisted the saddle up like it was nothing at all. It was still a task; the horse was quite tall and Archer was clearly new to the craft of saddling horses, but he was smart enough to figure it out.

As he fussed with the saddle, the horse bowed his and helped himself to what was left of their food. Ilia laughed. Ordon was closer than she thought and could be untouched. She allowed herself to laugh. She looked to the fire, it was still burning. She sprinkled more dirt over the Flames until they were choked down, leaving red and white coals and half-charred wood. Maybe it would come in handy for someone else someday, maybe it would sit there untouched until the end of time. Maybe she would find her way there again.

Archer cleared his throat. He was done fussing over the horse, and he presented his work to her with a half-bow. The horse puffed out its chest. "I can help you on if you need."

With help would have been the only way Ilia could have gotten on the horse. She realized that it would force him to break the promise she had made him take, but he was polite enough not to tease her about it or rub it in her face. She did not need to ride the horse. She had a lot of energy now that she had been fed; she just wanted to ride the horse. She had come a long way, and there were plenty more steps for her to take before she made it home. It could take one step for her every five, and she was so light it would probably barely notice her sitting on its back.

And it was such a beautiful horse.

"Yes, thank you."

Carefully, Archer took her by the waist and half lifted, half pushed her into the saddle. Ilia pulled herself up awkwardly. The saddle slipped and she pulled at the horse's mane, but she did manage to scramble into the saddle, her legs were so short she could not reach the stirrups. All she could do was cling to the saddlehorn and pray. With a little more grace and flexibility, Archer swung himself up behind her and placed the shirt, filled with walnuts, in front of her.

Once the horse started moving, clinging to the saddle horn without the stirrups for extra stability just made her rigid and unbalanced. She would have been tipped over if he had not held her in place. She was new to riding horses, and with the stranger a bare inch away from her the last thing she wanted to do was relax, but once she did, balancing became much easier.

The horse picked its way through the trees until the sky was orange and the trees were dark purple shadows. Ilia stifled a yawn. The sky darkened, the trees thinned and Ilia caught her first real look at Hyrule Field. It did not seem like they were heading towards Ordon, but indeed Ilia had never seen Ordon from the outside. How would she know what it looked like from the field?

She could barely keep her eyes open to take it all in, anyway.

"Ilia?"

"No. Don't worry. I won't fall asleep." she yawned. "That's the last thing I need… Don't let me…"