A/N: Chapter 12 will be out this time next week. Apologies for the slight change in plans (damn uni!)

Kass,

I trust this letter finds you well. I haven't decided where to send it yet. Probably Riverside Stable, I know you like that one. Thing is, I need your advice and I need it soon, and I can't wait around for you to head back to wherever this letter ends up.

But what can I do? Here's the story anyway:

Our warriors have started going missing for a day or so at a time. Most I've noticed is two. They usually say that they just went off to hunt, or practice their archery on some bokoblins or something. The first I noticed was Rylen, one of the younger guys. And then there was Yinli, you know him. The older falcon that advises Chief Kaneli. Well it's making me antsy. These aren't guys who should be disappearing. A few days back, I couldn't find Saki for a few hours and I was so mad... I regret what I said to her, but she's talking to me again so there's that.

I bet you saw the attack on Hyrule Castle. I was taking Tulin over to the Flight Range when it happened. Nearly knocked us both out of the sky. So much power, Kass, right on our doorstep too. And it looks like Medoh is camped with us for now. Saki thinks the Divine Beast is something we should be proud of, but I'm not so sure. Sometimes I still wake up with a tingling ache in my left leg where that thing shot me. I get it - Calamity Ganon is gone. Our friend Link is probably living it up in Hyrule Castle right now because of that. But the Divine Beasts were still piloted by people at some point, right? What happens when they fall into the wrong hands?

I guess my point is, do you think I'm being paranoid? Because I really don't know anymore. Have you seen anything suspicious on the road?

I'm going to head up to Vah Medoh tomorrow to make sure it isn't awake. I just need to know. And if there are some rats in the village, I'll find them. I just hope I have the time.

Speaking of Link, let me know if you see him, or just tell him to pay us a visit. Kid won the fight of the century - I'll be damned if I don't hear about it.

Fly well,

Teba

Inglis of Akkala dipped his face once again into the basin in his sleeping cell, the freezing water dispersing the last of his morning drowsiness. He raised his head to peer into the small mirror before him, and rubbed his eyes dry with the backs of his hands.

I don't much like it here.

It was his first thought of the day - of most days now, really. Hyrule Castle was not a friendly place, nor a terribly comfortable one. An oozing, poisonous corruption clung to almost every wing of the palace, and what hadn't been outright destroyed by the Calamity was crumbling and dilapidated. The Successors had attempted repairs to the structure, but they lacked the resources - or indeed the skill - needed to make any real progress. That is the way of things, when your numbers are made up of outcasts, bandits, former assassins, and fools.

Inglis wasn't sure which of the four he fit best. He had grown up in Akkala, in a tiny village not far from the stables. His father had tilled the fields with his pockmarked hands and had sung chanting hymns by the hearth fire. His mother had hands ever raw and tinged pink, and for as long as Inglis could remember her, her hair had been pushing grey. They had lived in a hut with only one room and a pantry that was rarely full. Maybe it had been a hard life, but Inglis had been content, in a simple and ignorant way.

And then at the age of sixteen, his family's hut was raided by a group of newly-bladed Yiga. The clan members had sought blood and conquest, and of course found it among the defenseless. Inglis had fought tenaciously, wielding little more than a knife, and a desperate, flailing desire to live; but the Yiga cut him down all the same, before putting the torch to the entire village.

That was where Cinelgen had found him: bleeding out in the rain, the hut up in smoke and his parents both slaughtered, their necks smiling wide and red. Cinna patched Inglis up, bound his wounds, and took him to the stables to recuperate. He taught Inglis to swallow his grief and turn it into strength, the better to one day help him destroy the clan that had razed the village to the ground. A year and a half Inglis and Cinna spent on the road after that day, together with Cinnna's band of outcasts. Inglis wasn't sure what to make of the Gerudo male-he never hid what he was, yet somehow Cinna's heritage went completely ignored. Innkeepers and merchants gave Cinna nervous sideways looks, but did not turn down his coin. It was the Yiga weapon - the painted Duplex bow capable of loosing two arrows simultaneously - that made them skittish. Cinna had claimed to have stolen it, but Inglis knew the truth.

Almost two years ago it was now, Inglis realised, two years since the day that Cinna had saved him. Two years of nights under the stars, jokes while they walked, and sword practice by dusk. "My dear Inglis!" Cinna would laugh after their practice, cuffing him on the back with a lung-thumping palm. "Who could ask for a better squire?"

Inglis had worshipped Cinna in those days, awestruck that a Gerudo male outcast - and a Yiga deserter - could walk through the world with such confidence and ease.

But that was then. Before the Champion, the one they called Link. Cinelgen had heard of the strange young Hylian with the ancient Slate, and he had changed. He was beset by a desire, apparently face-to-face with his destiny, and had become consumed with the single-minded purpose of finding Link and the Slate that he carried. When Inglis had questioned why Cinna was so set upon this new path, his friend claimed that it had been his path all along.

"I just failed to see it, Inglis," Cinelgen had explained. And then he had sent Inglis to the Karusa Valley, to join the Yiga, and work to destroy them from within. "I know a woman there - Milagre. She is their Secretary. She will help you."

And now they were here, in the decaying Hyrule Castle, with an army, and hostages, and enemies. No longer boys at play but men at war. Still, their new regime didn't quite suit Inglis yet.

Absentmindedly, Inglis rubbed at the burning sensation in his arm where the Princess had blasted him. Zelda was her name. Mila called her a mage, and she hit me with some bolt made from sorcery. Thankfully, the bolt had only glanced off his arm, and strangely the wound was more akin to a burn than a scrape. Inglis shuddered when he recalled the glowing mark on that the girl's hand, and was secretly glad that she was gone. Sighing and shivering from the morning chill, he left his cell in search of breakfast.

Inlis met Cinelgen in the Dining Hall; the Yiga defector was picking the meat off some boiled heron drumsticks, and barely raised his eyes from his meal when Inglis entered the room. Milagre was with him at the table, sharing the meal - the sight of her with Cinna sent a wave of jealousy through Inglis's young veins.

"Aye, morning Cinna," Inglis greeted his friend as he ducked his head under a collapsed doorframe to enter the room. Lips pursing, he added: "Milagre."

His companions raised their heads in unison when they saw him; their terse, upward nods the only acknowledgement of his presence.

"Have you checked on the Champion this morning, Inglis?" Cinelgen inquired as he lazily gnawed on a bone. There had been a feast the night prior and judging by the array of plates and cups strewn about the table, the leftovers were plentiful. In his sour mood, Milagre and Cinna seemed like vultures on carrion, breaking their fast on the remainders of the feast.

"No - should 'ave I?" Inglis hovered behind Milagre's chair, feeling strangely unwelcome. He was the baby of the trio; the sweet young one, the squire. And when knights want to dine they never care to look upon the faces of those below them.

Cinna celebrates now, throwing a feast and indulging half the Castle with hangovers, Inglis pondered, a little sourly. Yet yesterday morning he had called the trap a failure. Cinna was hard to read these days - a cipher of a man with a solution as rare as he was. Was he gloating like a fool, or was he just putting on a show?

Milagre turned in her chair to face him, chocolate hair framing her freckled cheeks. "You're already up, you may as well duck in to see him." She smiled sweetly.

"Of course," Inglis nodded, feeling like an abandoned bone discarded under a table. Ignoring his hunger, he retraced his steps out of the dining hall.

As he trudged through the ruined hallways of the Castle, his thoughts turned towards the seemingly unbreakable will of their prisoner. Inglis had brought Link to the healer the morning prior as Cinelgen had ordered, to have the arrows intended for the mageling girl removed. And even after a beating and two arrows to the chest, the Champion had clambered again to his feet to follow willingly, if a little slowly.

The only healer in the castle had been Coya, a Yiga acolyte; former Yiga, Inglis reminded himself. Cinelgen had destroyed the order in a massacre as swift and unexpected as he was. The acolyte's hands had been wobbly as he'd patched up Link's wounds, and he'd muttered through fleshy lips that Link was lucky not to have caught the arrows with his heart. As Coya worked, the Champion barely winced, and every time he met Inglis's gaze, he had given him nothing more than a contemptuous grin. Bigger men, stronger men, would have cried and gnashed their teeth at the pain. But not the Champion - even when Coya clumsily wrenched the arrows free - all Inglis saw on Link's face was a muted, distant smile. As though he had been… proud to have been captured.

More like he's proud to have spirited that girl away.

Inglis made it to the damp and dreary Lockup, and hailed Link with a cold, "Aye, prisoner," as he approached his cell, not wanting to give him the dignity of a name. The Champion was propped up against the back wall of the cell, his head resting limply against the bricks. When his blue eyes lolled open, his breathing hitched as if he had been seized by a some terrible nightmare and was only just coming to. But the nightmare was not over, it seemed; soon Link was muttering feverishly to himself, fingers scrabbling against the floor of his cell, seeking purchase, seeking strength. "What did I say… what did I do… tell me, tell me..."

Inglis turned to one of the guards, frowning. "How long has he been like this?"

"All night, and all morning too," the guard replied. "Mumbling questions and groaning to himself."

"Open his cell, and get behind me," Inglis commanded, glad to at least be higher in station than someone at this Castle. The guards obeyed, and soon Inglis was kneeling before Link, whose muttering had not stopped.

"Tell me, Zel… what did I say… what did I say..."

His face was swollen and badly bruised from Cinelgen's beating, the entire left side of his face overtaken by ugly pools of purple and yellow. His lips were cracked and tinged blue, drained of their colour by the cold. Inglis knew the tattered old shirt that Link had been given to replace his ruined doublet would not be warm enough for the winter, but there was little else to spare. Gingerly, he pulled open the left side of the shirt to examine Link's wounds, and was struck by a foul, acrid smell. They're festering. He could be dead within weeks.

Link's muttering continued. "What did I do..."

"You angered Cinelgen," Inglis answered, though he guessed his words went unheard. "Got yourself locked up in this hole, that's what you did. The worst place in the world."

For a moment, Link's eyes met his, and in the watery pools of blue Inglis saw a flash of clarity - a calmness - that betrayed a full understanding of the situation. I know, his eyes said. But you're here too.

"Don't anger him again," Inglis warned. Link's only reply was a slow blink and a weak, woozy smile.

Inglis sighed. He rose from the cell, pausing to instruct the guards to inform him if Link's condition worsened. In the cell across from Link, he spied the Zoran woman. She was weeping softly, but paid him no mind.

So much suffering, discomfort, and malice. It reminded Inglis of home, and not in a good way.

Climbing the crumbling stairs and makeshift haphazard walkways nailed into the side of Hyrule Castle, Inglis set out for the Throne Room to report to Cinna. There he found the Chief sitting on his red velvet throne, his painted Duplex Bow within reach, and a soft pink Rito woman kneeling before him. Milagre was standing guard by the door, and Inglis silently joined her. He smiled at the young woman, and she winked back, casual enough to seem inconspicuous, but coy enough to set Inglis's blood pumping.

"Tell my people at Lake Totori to look for a young Hylian woman, long blonde hair, carrying a Sheikah Slate, and a sword, and a crossbow," Cinna bellowed, his voice bouncing off the chamber walls. It was a voice he put on for such meetings, Inglis knew - to make himself sound like a ruler. "She has a mark on her right hand, just like the crest you see behind me. She is a mage, a powerful one. I want her dead, and I want that Beast."

"Of course, my lord. Our work will continue," the Rito acknowledged, slender neck craned loftily up to the throne. "And if I may take my leave, sir; I must return home by evenfall."

Cinna nodded, waving an idle hand in her direction. "I'm not fond of waiting," was all he said, his eyes now focused past the Rito - on Inglis himself. Dismissed, the Rito woman bowed her head, and stood to leave the throne room, as Inglis shifted his gaze to the leader of the Successors.

Inglis knew those green eyes well. But up on that throne, commandeering an army and seeking to control a kingdom, Cinelgen's presence seemed larger than his physical self. Larger than any man should be. Cinelgen shifted in the throne, reaching down to adjust his doublet. While Cinna's attention was momentarily elsewhere, Inglis felt Milagre wrap her pinky finger around his own. She let go the moment Cinna raised his eyes.

Ayu, a self-assured Gerudo woman who wore no neckerchief, was also waiting in the wings for an audience. She was the one responsible for kidnapping the Zoran Ambassador - the one to apparently lay the trap for Link and Zelda.

"Sav'otta, von Cinelgen," she hailed in the Gerudo tongue, sauntering into the centre of the room. Her heels tapped loudly against the wooden planks where the floor had been repaired, her gait slow and confident. "And what a fine morning it is."

"You need not speak that language to me," Cinelgen returned, face drawn. "We are not Gerudo here."

"Of course," Ayu nodded, slightly taken aback. Inglis saw her wobble on the planks as she shifted her weight. "Why distinguish ourselves? Is that not your goal? To unite us all?"

Cinelgen ignored her posturing. "What do you want, Ayu?"

Ayu hesitated, considering her words. Beside him, Inglis sensed Milagre shifting on the balls of her feet. She was passing her spear between her hands. Inglis clenched his fists in apprehension. Something's about to happen.

"I want to know what happens next. I killed the Zora king. I brought you the Ambassador, and now you have the Champion." The agitation in Ayu's low voice was clear, though Inglis could hear her straining to remain polite. "And yet I've been ignored. It's taken me two days just to gain an audience with you in this Castle."

Cinelgen regarded her with a withdrawn, almost bored look, his slight frown hinting at displeasure - as he would look upon a lowly fly that had landed on his food. "You believe you deserve a reward?" he asked calmly.

"Recognition, von Cinelgen," Ayu answered. Cinelgen's jaw clenched as she slipped into the Gerudo tongue once more. He narrowed his eyes, his mild displeasure turning to disgust.

"The spy I placed among the Zora envoy - the one who freed you from your captivity - he tells me that you confessed to the Gerudo, telling them of your actions against the Zora. And not only that, you gave them my name. You told them who was really responsible for the attack on the Zora. Do you want recognition for that?"

"I had no choice! That… that stupid vissa Buliara would have killed me. She saw it all anyway. What does it matter?"

"What does it matter!?" Cinelgen snarled. "That bitch, as you call her, is the most trusted advisor of the Chief of the Gerudo! And now she knows we led the attack!"

"She has no proof beyond her word!" Ayu countered. "What will one attack matter when all of Hyrule is at war? I led the Champion here! He and that Hylian girl knew you had taken the Castle, so I led them here! You cannot deny me that!"

"Yes, you took your monumental mistake and turned it into an opportunity." For a moment, Cinelgen seemed to relent, but then he leapt to the offensive. "You almost made us look like fools before the Rito, and I prevented that by claiming your stupidity was a trap. I can no longer trust you, and I can no longer risk letting your tongue wag again."

"It will not, I assure you."

Cinelgen took a deep breath, and reached for his Duplex bow. Casually, fingers working the string as he spoke, he nocked two arrows into the bow. "I am not willing to take that risk."

Inglis was not quick enough to look away. Swift and sudden, Cinelgen loosed the arrows towards Ayu. The first found her chest, and the second her neck.

Hushed gasps filled the throne room, rolling through the circular chamber like a wave against the shore. Ayu choked and spluttered, her lips mouthing silent words of fury and shock, and then she collapsed forward. The gasps and whispers began to die with her. Inglis gaped helplessly at the dying woman, caught between the twin feelings of pity and relief.

Blood had begun slowly pooling around the Gerudo woman, seeping through the gaps in the wood and dripping into the deep cavern below. Cinelgen called for someone to take the body away. Thankfully there were two Yiga stewards (former Yiga, Inglis caught himself again) in the wings who were eager to stay on Cinelgen's good side. They ducked across the planks, and began unceremoniously dragging Ayu away. With the conflict in the throne room dead and all tasks seen to, Inglis felt useless, and he slipped into Milagre's shadow.

The deed done, Cinelgen decided that he was done giving audience for the day, announcing to those remaining in the throne room that he wanted them out of his sight. Even if there had been others waiting for an audience, Inglis privately thought it unlikely that they'd show themselves now.

Milagre silently breezed out of the room, and Inglis filed out after her. He followed her down the stone steps to the courtyard beyond the throne room, and then to the left as they made for the East Passage.

"Are you okay?" Inglis asked as they walked. "That was…a bit intense."

Milagre just shrugged. "Cinna and I agreed that it was necessary."

Inglis furrowed his brow, unsure in his defiance: "Was it?"

They stopped by one of the ruined Gatehouses. The wind was whistling through the crumbling bricks, singing the song of the Castle's destruction. Milagre placed a warm hand on his arm. "Sweet Inglis," she said softly. "Don't you trust him?"

"Of course I do," Inglis said defensively. Perhaps not as much as you, though. Mila had known Cinna much longer than Inglis had, after all. The two had been Yiga stewards together, Inglis recalled, and then Acolytes, and had even become bladed in the same year, shortly before Cinna had run away. How much more have you been to each other? Inglis thought bitterly.

Mila gave his arm a squeeze. "Then you don't need to worry. Cinna is in control."

"I know that," Inglis said firmly. "I just didn't expect this much.…"

Mila anticipated his concern. "Violence? Inglis. That is just the way of things now." She gave him a warm, placating smile. "Why don't you go talk to him? You know Cinna. He'll want someone to tell him he did the right thing, and you're his friend."

Inglis nodded, conceding. Squires didn't argue with their knights.

Milagre's eyes passed briefly up towards the throne room. Seeing that they were not being watched, she gave Inglis a quick kiss. It almost was enough to dissolve his lingering anxiety; to put right the worry in his mind. Inglis caught her, and kissed her back, but Mila wriggled from his grip and continued down the path.

"Go talk to Cinna," she called over her shoulder. "Everything is going to be fine."

After he watched Mila go, Inglis begrudgingly turned back towards the throne room, readying himself to speak with his friend who had so suddenly become a king.

Teba rose before sunrise, as he did every morning. The Rito warrior rolled swiftly and purposefully out of his bed, planting his talons against the wooden floor of his hut, and allowed himself a single sleepy moment to yawn and stretch. And then the day began.

Saki was murmuring in her sleep. "Don't push him too hard…" and then she rolled over, soft pink feathers shifting gently. Teba ran his wingtips across her face, and gave her a quick peck before going to wake their son.

Tulin was almost twelve now. He would hit his growth spurt soon - or at least Teba hoped. But the boy had always been small, even for a fledgeling, and he showed no great skill at archery or flying. He was perfectly average - a normal child. Hardly what the son of a Rito Warrior should be. And Teba couldn't truly admit how much that bothered him.

Teba and Tulin flew together to the Flight Range, as they did every morning. In the east, the sun was just beginning to rise, its warm rays cutting through the powdery morning snow. Winter's Welcome was soon, perhaps only a few days away. In his hollow bones Teba knew it would be a long one; this year's autumn had been short and the summer long. All the more reason to train harder - to push Tulin to be the warrior he was born to be, and to solve the mystery that plagued Teba and robbed him of his sleep.

Where are they going? Why do they keep disappearing?

First it was Rylen, and then Yinli, and now countless other Rito - here one day and gone the next, and then here again. Even Saki had given Teba reason to worry. Oh, I was just visiting the Stables, she'd said. I'm sorry I worried you.

Now Yinli hadn't returned, and his sons were squabbling like crows over his possessions. Who will get his armour? Who will take the family bow - one of Falcon make, modified to fire three arrows at once? Not that it mattered; the Falcon bow and the armour had disappeared with the old bird. Yinli might not even be dead, yet his sons were circling his soul as though they were lowly vultures. Teba wondered what, if anything, he had to pass on to Tulin. A bow maybe, but would the his son ever have any true use for it?

"We'll start with stationary drills, and then move on to aerials, do you understand?" Teba instructed Tulin as they neared the Flight Range. Tulin was gazing at the glowing Shrine on the south side of the range canyon.

"Tulin!"

"Y-yes, Father," the boy stammered, flapping his wings faster to catch up.

"You need to focus. Tell me, what are we doing today?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The fledgeling gave the Shrine another chancing glance. "I just noticed that there are footprints leading from the Shrine."

Footprints? That gave Teba pause. He usually prided himself on being observant of his surroundings - the change in the wind, the rustling of the trees, the movements of his brethren to and from Lake Totori. But he hadn't noticed the footprints as his son had.

Teba followed Tulin's line of down sight to the Shrine; sure enough, a trail of footprints that was nearly obscured by the new snow led from the Shrine over to the Flight Range. The tracks appeared to be muddled halfway through, as though their maker had stumbled towards the range canyon.

Teba scowled, feeling his feathers ruffle. "Stay close," he instructed, tone clipped. Tulin adjusted his flight path, angling into his father's slipstream. They pressed on towards the Flight Range.

Teba had expected to find another one of his kind at the Range, even though the footprints Tulin had spied did not look Rito-made. Hylians - or indeed any of the other races - were rarely found in Hebra. The cold kept them away. And Hebra was as brutal as it was beautiful; Teba maintained the fire at the Range such that it burned around the clock for that very reason. Many a time before he had found a weary traveller by its side.

He had not expected to find such an unprepared traveller, whose attire was completely unsuitable for the mountain climate. The girl was curled by the low fire, her nose and the fingers of her ungloved right hand frosted over with the first signs of frostbite. Her blonde hair was coiled in a long braid, and her garb - plain grey Hylian clothes - seemed barely warm enough for the mountains. And strangest of all, she carried nothing on her person except a small, bow-like contraption that was hooked to her belt. The girl's breathing was shallow, but she was alive.

Teba knelt by the fire while Tulin looked on apprehensively. "Is she okay?" his son asked.

"No." Teba swept away the accumulated ash and threw some new logs onto the crackling embers. "Look closely. Tell me what you see."

Tulin waddled slowly over to the Hylian and stood over her, his wide yellow eyes taking stock.

"Uhm… her nose, and her fingers. She has first-degree frostbite."

The fire was beginning to rise, the new logs catching flame with some assistance from a gentle breeze stirred by Teba's wingtips. He allowed himself a moment to enjoy its warmth, and then returned to stoking the flames.

"A simple observation. Look further."

"She's lost her right glove. Her left hand is gloved, so… And she scraped her knee, and her face. She fell. Maybe that's when she lost her glove."

"Potentially. Anything else?"

The girl began to stir feebly as Tulin spoke. "Father! Her right hand! It… it's glowing?"

"What? That isn't it." Teba's attention was drawn from the fire. But his son was right; there on her right hand - multiple dimly-glowing triangles coming together to form a larger one. Another thing Teba had not noticed. Getting sloppy, he thought. The girl's eyes fluttered open.

"Warm yourself up, girl," Teba instructed. "You've been hurt, but we cannot move you to Rito Stables just yet."

"Ri-Rito...," the girl croaked. "Rito Stables?"

"Yes. On the other side of the lake," Teba answered. "I'm guessing that's where you came from."

The girl did not reply, or even seem to understand his words. Still drowsy; maybe addled from the cold. Let her wake up first. Teba watched as she held her hands out towards the flames, and sucked in air through her teeth. Tulin was stood beside her, gawking at her with unblinking eyes. It wasn't polite, but Tulin so rarely saw Hylians. And teaching the boy manners is Saki's job, not mine.

"It'll hurt to warm up, and you'll blister," Teba told the girl. "But it could have been worse. You got a reason for not wearing gloves up here of all places?"

The girl opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She pulled her right sleeve down over her hand, covering the glowing symbol. A mage, Teba noted. Never a good thing.

Tulin had grown bored of staring, and made his way over to his storage chest to retrieve his training bow. It was a simple weapon, not a mechanical one like the traditional Rito bows - he didn't yet have the strength for the draw weight. Teba caught his gaze and gave him a short, surreptitious shake of the head. Not now. No time. Tulin sulkily lowered the bow, and returned it to the chest. When Teba returned his attention to the girl, she had dozed off once again.

"Time to take you home then," he grumbled under his breath, and knelt to scoop her into his wings. She was surprisingly light; small even for a Hylian. Teba bundled her in close to his chest. He could not fly with her in his grip, and the walk back to Rito Stables would not be short. It would do the girl no good for her frostbite to get any worse. Judging by how ill-equipped she was for this place, he guessed she was already in enough trouble as it was. Mentally deliberating the quickest way back to the stables on foot, Teba stepped out into the snow.

"Tulin, return to the village on your own," he commanded, addressing his son over his shoulder.

"Yes, Father," Tulin called back, and with some clumsiness, he took wing and disappeared into the falling morning snow. Teba watched his son with some trepidation. Flight should come easier to him at this age, he brooded. Teba had been seven when he first took a bow to the air. Tulin hadn't managed that until he was almost ten.

Teba exhaled, reorienting his focus. He needed to move quickly, and could not busy himself with intrusive thoughts, as important as his son's development was.

The girl shivered as he walked to the Stables, but she did not rouse. Her breathing was slow and shallow, though the light from her hand did not dim. Teba examined it as he walked - three triangles together making up a fourth, as gold as the sun. He felt he'd seen them somewhere before… on a tunic, or on the hilt of a weapon? He knew Hylian clothes tended to favour geometric patterns, sometimes triangles, but not always...

My memory used to be better, Teba reflected. Five years ago I'd have recognised it immediately.

Worry was seeping into bones, as deep and as persistent as the morning chill. Perhaps this girl was connected to the disappearances. Perhaps she was a plant. How else would anyone, let alone a little Hylian woman, make it all the way to the Flight Range with no provisions and no armour? She had come from the Shrine, hadn't she? Teba had only met one person capable of travelling using those Shrines: the Champion-descendant named Link. Perhaps this girl knew him.

Realisation struck him like lightning. The Sword. That's where he had seen the symbol - on the golden scabbard of the sword that Link had carried. The one with the winged crossguard and the diamond hilt. Teba never forgot a good weapon.

This girl must know him then - though Teba had not found a Sheikah Slate on her. So how did she reach the Shrine?

Who are you? He stared down at the sleeping girl as he walked, squinting down at her soft face.

At last the horsehead effigy of the Rito Stables came into view; they were not far now. And still the girl had not woken. A bad sign. Teba increased his pace, taking stock of his weariness and pausing to roll his shoulders and shake out the ache in his wings. Even on a morning this cold and snowed under, the Stable was abuzz with activity. Horses neighed and stomped their hooves against the frosted straw; the smoke of a handful of fires and cooking pots wafted lazily into the sky, and travellers and stable hands alike moved purposefully around the stable tent. And lilting over the noise, strangely foreign against the domestic sounds - a soft and reedy waltz was being played on an accordion.

Kass, Teba thought warmly. He's returned.

Re-adjusting his hold on the girl, Teba approached the bard.

The song stopped. "Teba? What are you doing?" The bard was eyeing him with confused suspicion, his gaze flitting between Teba and the girl.

"Good morning to you too, Kass," Teba drawled. He looked down at the Hylian in his wings and then back to Kass. WIth a short shrug: "She's alright, just a little frostbitten. Found her at the Range."

Kass returned to his song, playing a little softer as they conversed. "Very kind of you to bring her here."

"Not the first I've found. But I'm not sure what to make of her," Teba admitted, his voice low. He was glad to have Kass' accordion to mask his words. "She's got nothing on her, except a crossbow, and she's a mage by the looks of it."

"Oh?" The bard's eyes widened. "A mage? What makes you so sure?"

Teba nodded down to the girl hands, which were crossed at her chest. "The mark on her hand."

Kass leaned in, squinting as he assessed the girl. And then his face dropped, his beak hanging open, and Teba saw the his entire body tense. His music stopped again.

"That symbol...," Kass murmured. And then he suddenly shouldered his accordion, and held out his wings.

"Teba. We cannot leave her here," he said urgently. "Give her to me."

Teba drew back, wrapping his wings tighter about the girl. "Why? Who is she?"

"Someone very special, my friend." Kass frowned. "That she is here, in this state, does not bode well for anyone."

"Well, wonderful," Teba grumbled, and he gingerly handed the girl into Kass' wings. She finally stirred then, her round green eyes opening slowly.

"Where… where am I?" she murmured.

"Safe," Kass told the girl, drawing her close against the feathers of his chest. He took a step towards Teba, and spoke in a harsh whisper. "Listen to me. Tell no one how you found her. I met her on my travels, and took her in as my student. We were caught in a storm and she was frostbitten."

"You got my letter, didn't you?" Teba asked impatiently. He never liked not being in on a plan. "Do you think it has something to do with-?"

Kass nodded curtly. "I'm certain. We will talk on this later. Return to the Range for now. I will take care of her."

Teba watched as Kass carried the Hylian girl towards Rito Village. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, letting his rational side take over. It's just one girl. Yet Kass, despite being a bard, was not one for melodrama. Teba trusted his friend, and that trust left a lump in his throat.

He scowled; worry was a weakness.

Teba took one more moment of rest, and then he launched himself skyward, flying northwest across Lake Totori to return to the Flight Range as he knew he should. As he would have, had the morning been a normal one, and not the ominous herald of an uncertain and harsh winter that Teba knew it was.