Author's Note: Sorry for the hiatus, all—it's still going on, but this one-shot leapt up and tried to bite my ankles, so I decided to write it down before it could succeed.

This takes place at some undetermined time after Link finds the Master Sword, and can thus turn into and from a wolf at will.

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"AAAAH!"

"MOMMIE, HELP, IT'S COMING AFTER ME—"

"MY BABY, SOMEBODY SAVE MY BABY FROM THAT HORRIBLE CREATUR—"

"LOOK OUT, IT'S COMING THIS WAY, QUICK, CALL THE GUARDS—"

"EVERYONE, HIDE, IT'S THE MONSTE…"

Shrills of horror, howls of fear, and other such happy sounds of chaos pelted at the charging wolf like stray arrows as he dashed his way through town as quickly as possible. Finely dressed ladies abandoned all composure as they hitched up their billowing skirts, puffing and hurrying away from him as quickly as they could. Fully grown men's faces wrinkled and scrunched up in fear at the sight of him, and emitted whimpers like infants frightened by a loud noise. Link always simply let his toothy, wolfish jaw hang down just widely enough to show glittering teeth in the poor torchlight, bushy wolf-tail wagging playfully while he continued his dash.

Midna was perched atop his back. Normally she might lean back haughtily, but Link's random lunging forward was jolting her around to the point that she was holding on for dear life. She and Link may have made enough peace to form a sort of unspoken teamship by now, but that obviously wasn't keeping him from bothering her. Of course, that meant she'd just have to keep looking for ways to keep this petty war even—like always.

An old, bearded man gaped in horror at them as they approached, burying his face and his beard in his voluminous sleeves while the animals passed. A small, curly-haired child shrieked pitifully, dropping the giant urn she had been carrying, raising her thin little hands as though they might somehow protect her. Link didn't stop to even glance at her, merely making a whining sound of distress as the water enclosed in the urn cascaded every which way, soaking most of him while he passed. It was small comfort that Midna's passionate sounds of annoyance and disgust drowned him out.

With the force of a speeding cart, and the size of a small horse, Link barreled his way through town with Midna clinging by her fingertips. When the city gate Link had been heading towards finally came into view, Link's pace slowed as he saw the small entourage of quivering mice who called themselves guards waiting for him. Their armor rattled, their uselessly polished-to-a-silvery-sheen weapons winked and glittered in the dim day-light as they tried to make themselves look menacing. Link's pace picked up again, trusting the guards to be cowardly enough to collapse back at his approach.

As usual, most of them did (one of them with a decidedly high-pitched squeal), though one held his ground and stabbed at Link with his pike. The wolf twisted and leapt over the stab. Through sheer obstinacy, the pike-man managed another attempted, this time flailing stab with his blade at the last moment, giving Link a grazing skin-wound one of his hind legs hadn't been able to dodge.

Then the wolf hit the solid, wooden bridge outside of the town's walls, the freakish creature that Midna seemed on its back, glaring over its shoulder at the lucky guard, as both wolf and creature faded off in the mockingly cheerful fields bordering the castle town's walls.

Come the next day, the town was only slightly ruffled by the previous day's happenings. Sightings such as these were becoming less and less rare, and while it disturbed some of the older city-dwellers, the young ones were finding themselves rapidly adjusting. For example, the young child that had dropped her urn of water had already obtained another urn, and had found help in gathering the previous one's pieces together to attempt to find some way to restore it.

The flow of visitors and merchants wasn't affected by these strange happenings, either. They came, just as always. When a blonde-haired, green-garbed, limping youth approached the city's drawbridge, few people looked twice at him. He looked as though he'd slept poorly, perhaps in some ditch by the road, if the state of his clothes was anything to go by. That would account for the shadows under his eyes, and the slight sniffle he was sporting, too—after all, ditches weren't healthy. No one could possibly have known that clothes had been wet all night when he'd spent most of his day floundering around a nearby river in search of a flint and tinder he had dropped in. True, he might have simply used his lantern to start a fire to warm up by, but his lantern turned up oil-less, and fate had arranged things just so that any quest to search for an oil or flint-and-tinder dealer would have been more inconvenient than not.

Just as Link was about to pass under the town's stone archway, a tinny, deep voice gruffly called to him.

"You there, boy…"

Link looked up at the town guard, who was watching him. Most of the man's face was covered by his helm, and there wasn't really much of a way to discern expression from a person's mouth alone. The farm-boy-turned-chosen-hero tried not to fidget. "Yes? … uh, Milord?" Link grinned winningly, wincing inside. Was that even the right thing to say? Darned if he knew; city life wasn't meant for him…

"You'd best stay indoors at night these days." The guard said after a pause. "There's a wolf, see. Bloody big one, too. It'd be a shame if something were to happen, and it were to find you…" He sounded honestly concerned, if a bit rough about it.

Link paused before giving his reaction. Having had all too much experience in the village childeren's attempts at pleading innocence, it was the one reaction he knew well enough to imitate. It worked occasionally with the adults when the children tried, though Link had been too fastidiously meticulous in maintaining his image of trustworthiness to experiment with it himself.

This, however, wasn't Ordon. Not only that, a world of things had changed since he had left his cozy home of goat-herding days, full of comforting, woody smells. For those reasons, he found himself widening his eyes, letting his mouth open a bit more than usual. He glanced back out at the fields he had just approached the gates from, as though he might see a wolf the size of a castle gamboling over the country side in search of him. "Really, Milord?" Link asked, the very image of a naïve little country-boy. Yes, he had learnt from Talo well. Now all that was left to find was if he merely looked like a youth imitating a guilty, incorrigible twelve-year-old, or if he pulled off a 'simpleton farmhand' appearance convincingly. "Wow! I'll be sure to stay indoors tonight, Milord, thank you!" Then he smiled, doing his best to look grateful. . It occurred to him that it would have been just as good a reaction to nod disbelievingly and continue on his way, but it was too late for that now. Besides, that level of unconcern coupled with his solitude would have damaged his credibility (or worse, raised suspicions), considering the practical skills one would need to achieve this confidence and the skill levels most other youths his age had.

The guard watched him some more—still inscrutably—before nodding. He waved Link past. "Hmph. Telma's Bar might have room for someone like you—and prices, too." He turned back to the teeming crowd, which was seeping past the two speaking.

Link smiled again ("Yes, milord, I'll go right away!") before hurrying away. The limp he'd acquired yesterday was too painful to hide completely, with his boot's leather chafing at the makeshift bandage hidden by his leggings, but he tried hiding it regardless.

The guard turned back to watch as he all but scurried off. The limp didn't go unnoticed. Neither did the fact that he took the left he would have needed to take in order to go to Telma's Bar without needing to stop for directions. It was entirely possible that the newcomer had merely moved with the crowd, heading in that direction through sheer luck.

The guard shifted his pike to his other hand uneasily, still watching. Then he turned back to the gate. The chances of that kid having had anything to do with the previous night's occurrences were unlikely. They were laughable: he was just a boy. Besides, the guard told himself at an uncertain mutter, there hadn't been a full moon, and there was no such thing as werewolves anyway.

Nonetheless, that boy was strange…

The guard shook his head, making his armor clank quietly, before turning towards the crowd once more. It was all just a big coincidence—nothing else at all.

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