Dear Zelda,
I am writing to you from the city of Anther. We remain here after almost a week, which is unusual for ones as mobile as ourselves.
Over the course of the past few days, each of us have settled comfortably into the city lifestyle. Dakota has been commissioned as a pictograph model for Anther's upcoming arts festival, the Perennial Carousal. Ezra has colluded with a local author to co-produce a research paper on the city's history. Laurel recently gambled a few Rupees at one of Anther's arcades and earned some substantial winnings, which he vows to save for a rainy day.
As for me, I cannot say I share the same fortunes that the others have enjoyed. Anther is indeed a lush haven of peace and prosperity, but it adds nothing in the way of our expedition. If I am to fulfil my mission's purpose, I must venture beyond the confines of these city walls. However, convincing my fellow Councillors might prove difficult as they submerse into the serenity of Anther's amenity. I hope we resume our travels once the Perennial Carousal has passed.
Your faithful friend,
Ningan.
The sizzling heat of summer eventually crackles into thunder as the skies are split by forks of lightning. Anther's residents retreat to the refuge of their homes with haste, shielding themselves from the relentless rain.
The stone steps that pave the way to the milk bar are a treacherous waterfall that requires steady traversing. Ningan flings the door open and shakes the water from his hair. His bandana is a drenched rag and his boots squelch with every step. Despite his untidy appearance, his old haunt welcomes him with opens arms.
"A standard pint please." he announces upon his entrance.
The barman slides the glass into Ningan's grasp. He takes a refreshing gulp as the puddles at the bottom of his boots evaporate.
"You didn't bring your partner with you today?" the barman asks.
"He's no partner of mine." Ningan grimaces. "I apologise for his unruly entrance."
"My only concern was for the welfare of my most loyal customer." The bartender assures him. "I assume he meant you no harm."
Ningan snorts. "He wouldn't dare."
"Well if he ever does, our resident police force are always on hand to handle any ruffians that might threaten the peace in our town." the bartender says reassuringly.
"Thank you for your concern." Ningan swigs from the glass and wipes his lip. "Although their involvement won't be necessary."
He casts his eyes up to the window above the bar and sees the rain lashing upon the windowpane. He wonders where his fellow Councillors might be during this unforgiving storm. Dakota would probably be safely cradled in the arms of her man. Ezra would likely be in the library, conducting his ceaseless consultation into the unexplored ages of Anther's history. What of Laurel? He didn't care.
His space is suddenly occupied by a slender champagne flute. He follows the fingers clasped around the stem to the bartender's generous smile.
"For my best customer." he winks.
Ningan examines the rosy-pink contents of the glass and discovers a strawberry bobbing on its bubbly surface: the finishing touch to Anther's most coveted champagne.
"Anther Rosé." the barman clarifies. "On the house for one occasion only."
The Sheikah leans over the counter with a glint in his eye. "And what occasion might that be?"
The barman shrugs. "A celebration of life's lustre."
He pours himself a glass and raises a toast. "To good fortune."
As Ningan lifts his glass, he recalls the toast he had performed alongside Laurel that night at that fancy restaurant: Our good fortune. Our health and vitality. Our friendship.
He suddenly retracts his rosé and retreats from the counter. The bartender frowns at his unexpected mood swing.
"What's the matter? You'd rather propose your own toast?"
Ningan shakes his head with certainty. "I ought to be heading back to the hotel. I don't need your generous gestures or your deluxe drinks and smooth-talk to sweeten my mood."
He places his flute firmly on the counter and dismounts from the barstool. The bartender observes his swift exit open-mouthed.