A/N: I can't believe people actually reviewed. There's people still reading this story after all this time, and they reviewed. Dear lord, the sky is falling.

If I didn't respond to your review, I apologize; I intended to reply to everybody, but I never got around to it. Just know that I love you so, so much. And that our wedding is next March. I also apologize for the outrageously long time it took for me to write this chapter and the shortness of the chapter itself that adds salt to the wound.

Last thing: Hyrule Historia just completely destroyed all sorts of stuff in this fic. I have all sorts of non-theory-and-slightly-philosophical issues with Nintendo making theories canon, anyway (yet I keep fangirling over it anyway, goshdarnit), so I guess iiiiiiiiiiit's retconning time!

Last last thing: I gave up on the chapter partway through editing. Have fun wading through this one.

Somewhere along the way, Link found himself with a plan. It wasn't the best plan, or even a good plan. It's only merit, he knew, was that it would work. At the time, that was the only merit that counted.

Yet while he had faith that it would work, there were only two solid aspects to his plan: the first being escape, and the second being the conditions of Navi's rescue. The first was… disagreeable. He'd never liked them. Ever since the very first one, he'd never liked them. He hadn't used them since he'd left Termina—not so much from fear of them and where they'd come from—although he supposed that would be logical—but simply from their "disagreeable" nature. What they did was disagreeable. What they represented what disagreeable. What he'd set out to do on the journey that accidentally brought him to Termina, and by extension what he'd failed to do, was disagreeable. They were not his last resort, nor some hidden fear of his, or anything quite so official or important. They were simply… disagreeable.

As for the second aspect—well. He'd never liked them, either. He could even say he found them disagreeable. But that was a natural effect of Reoh-Link breaking his nose on sight.

Logically, he justified leaving Reoh-Link and Midna behind in all sorts of ways—he worked better solo; the job required only one man; neither one would accept his help; Reoh-Link didn't know what stealth was even though it'd been living in his shadow and somewhat helping, somewhat manipulating him to save two connected kingdoms for several months. But the bottom line was something not quite as clear-cut as Link—or anybody—would have liked; and he understood this fact, accepted it, and filed it away.

He would, he promised himself, come back for them, and that was comfortably clear-cut. He just needed to find Navi first.

So he slid his borrowed fingers through the bars, grasping the metal and pulling it apart. It was almost frightening, how weak the bars were compared to a Goron's strength. He barely heard the screech of protest from the metal. And when he was done, he sat back and admired his handiwork, wondering if he should smooth out the fingerprints in the metal. As it was, it looked… violent. If he fiddled with it a little, the bent bars could smooth into something resembling a parted curtain.

He left it like that. He removed the mask, stepping easily through the bars with his smaller frame, and surveyed the long, dark hall of empty cells. At the end, the worn, beaten door stood alone. He took a step towards it, then another, as if daring the door to make a run for it.

He was past halfway down the hallway when his body realized the door was opening. His foot twisted in midstep to circle around, centering his balance; his left hand twitched towards a sword on his back that wasn't there; his other hand grasped the hilt of his sword buried in his bag; and there was a Deku nut already flying. His eyes shut just as the flash exploded like a tangible force.

When Link's eyes opened again, the guard was falling through the door, and Link took three great leaps to catch the Rito's thin shoulders before he hit the floor. For a terrible second he thought the poor Rito was dead, with his wide red eyes open and staring straight out in front of him—but no, he was breathing, even if the birdlike frame under his hands was limp enough to pass as an oversized doll. Link snapped his fingers in front of the guard's face, but he wasn't responding at all—which should have been a good thing if Link hadn't been so afraid he'd put the poor thing in a coma.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled under his breath. "I'm sorry."

Nobody, in Link's experience, reacted that badly to Deku nuts, and it suddenly struck him how frail people were.

Which, he was sorry to say, didn't quite stop him. As soon as he'd found the right pressure points and felt the Rito go completely limp, he dragged the poor guard to a cell two down from Reoh-Link's and shut it, not quite sure if it automatically locked without a key. He felt like some sort of jailer, standing outside these cells with the unconscious Rito in one and dazed Reoh-Link half-conscious in the other. Midna was shuddering in the corner from the light flash, single eye shut tight and one hand clutching the ground, seeking stability; and Link hovered briefly in front of the bars in sympathy.

It'd been a mistake.

"Excuse me for prying, but my opinion has not changed."

"Excuse… me…?"

Quill, the Chieftain, and probably even the fairy looked up and at the small girl in the open doorway, seeming very small and exhausted but distinctly triumphant. Skett and Akoot stood beside her, somewhat sheepishly. "Our deepest apologies, sir," said Skett, "but she insisted. Didn't she, Akoot?"

"Rather forcefully," agreed Akoot.

"It's urgent," said Medli, both forcefully and urgently.

The Chieftain's gaze traveled from Medli back down to the fairy, and for once his thoughts were clearly displayed: As urgent as Medli's matter was, there were likely more urgent matters to be addressing. But he said, "Come in, Medli," and with a gesture, signaled for Skett and Akoot to close the door behind her.

She stood as tall as a young girl of her age could, her chin only barely reaching over the Chieftain's desk, but strangely she managed something of the gracefulness Komali's grandmother had carried as she sunk into a low, practiced bow. It was quietly startling; Quill had never seen even a ghost of the strength Komali's grandmother had possessed. "My apologies, Chieftain," she said as she straightened. "It's a letter from Link."

Long ago—that is, yesterday—the Chieftain himself had sent a letter through Medli to Link, who then carried it to Komali. If the Chieftain saw the connection, he showed no sign, and simply remarked, "He couldn't see me himself?"

"No, sir; circumstances wouldn't allow," replied Medli. "I apologize on his behalf." She pulled the letter out of her dress pocket, but when the Chieftain held out his hand, she hesitated. "Sir, the contents of this letter are… not to be taken lightly," she said. "It wouldn't be wise to have so many people with knowledge its contents."

"Certainly," replied the Chieftain. He picked the cork up off the desk, motioned for Quill to hand him the bottle, and then replaced the cork.

Medli's eyes flicked to Quill. "…Um."

"If I do not wish for Quill to know the contents of the letter, I will not show him," said the Chieftain. "For now, he is to stay here."

The confused look didn't vanish from Medli's expression, and she hesitated. The letter beneath her fingers crinkled under the pressure.

"Quill is not a part of the police force, nor is he a postman of any high ranking. He is a third party," said the Chieftain. "And third parties are surprisingly formidable, child."

She glanced at him one last time, but her arm slowly extended to relent the letter. The Chieftain slid a finger through the opening once, and the paper ripped apart cleanly. As he unfolded the letter, Medli ducked her head and told him, "Again, I apologize for Link's inability to come himself. There are other matters he had to confront."

"You've apologized twice, and the opening lines of the letter are yet another apology for the same matter," the Chieftain pointed out, something of a humorous, yet definitively tired, hint in his voice.

"It's a very urgent matter," explained Medli. "We both agree this conversation should have been done in person."

"Is that so?" The Chieftain lowered his gaze slowly to the paper, and there was a long, expectant silence as his eyes flicked back and forth through the letter. In less than a minute he handed the paper to Quill without a word and sat back in his chair. Taking the cue, Quill peeled back the folded top half to read the opening lines:

I apologize for not being able to say this in person, but preparations had to be made—and if it doesn't work out, that's fine, they can be called off. Please, keep in mind that all the preparations I've already done can be called off and/or undone, and that I'm sincerely asking for your permission to proceed.

I also apologize for throwing all this on you, because it's dangerous, and I hate putting other people in danger when I could just do it myself. It's just terribly unfair to you. I should be doing this by myself.

And lastly, I apologize for the things that can be called off, but not undone.

The rest was very urgent indeed.

First floor. First room was locked. Second room contained a guest room. Third room had voices of Ritos inside; from overheard irrelevant conversation, chances of Navi being inside were close to nothing. Fourth room was also locked. Fifth room had four pots and nothing else.

Second floor. First room was storage. Second room was a mail sorting room. Third room locked. Fourth room contained uniforms for postmen. Fifth room was another mail sorting room. Sixth room was locked.

Third floor. First floor locked. Second door locked.

Noise from upper floors; back to ground floor and dungeons. Rito guard was still not moving. All other cells empty.

All other cells empty.

Exit room. Guards posted on floors one and above. Back outside to ground floor, noted that there are several doors on the ground floor. With guard change, too risky to investigate now. Outside Rito Hall altogether.

Back to the beach.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

"Wait for me until dawn—just dawn. And if I'm late, leave without me."

Reoh-Link's lips twisted into a distrustful frown, but his jaw was moving in a way that Link knew he was chewing the corner of his bottom lip. But instead of replying, he said, "That light flash before—that was a Deku nut, wasn't it? That's when you escaped."

It wasn't so much a question as it was an accusation, and Link nodded. "It was a mistake. There was a guard who heard the noise, and I didn't want to hurt him."

"But you escaped before I did," Reoh-Link pressed.

"Were you expecting me to help you do the same?"

He stiffened. "I was expecting you to offer," he said tartly, "because it's something you would do. Not because I needed it."

Link glanced towards the long shadow of the island, displeased at the words he was speaking. "I was trying to find Navi, and I thought it best to do it alone. I was chased out by the guard change before I could find her.

"But believe me, I was going to go back for you if you didn't get out yourself," he said, gaze returning firmly to Reoh-Link's half-faded face. "I wouldn't have left you there."

There was a note of finality that left no room for argument, and Reoh-Link scowled in earnest now. He turned away, tilting his head up to study the dark sky almost thoughtlessly. For a second, Link thought he would simply walk away; but then his gaze snapped back over his shoulder and he gave the space over Link's left shoulder a steely glare. The defeated irritation in his expression spoke before he did.

"Until dawn," he agreed. "I'll wait until dawn."

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Three hours—that was all the time he had before dawn. He needed to locate Navi, find a way to rescue her, and then get back to the boat.

He knew that she was with the Rito authorities. But rather than simply check every place where Rito guards might be (which was a bad idea for obvious reasons), he lurked outside, scratching together a battle plan on the beach with his finger, using pictures and symbols he simply memorized the meanings of as he went since he'd always been mediocre at writing at best. But he had a grand total of not much to work with, with even less time, and even less tolerance with the thought of Navi in a bottle somewhere, so he wound up twirling his finger in the sand until he'd dug a fairly decent-sized hole. The symbolism was not lost on him.

Then he thought: the Rito prince had been injured. Navi was a fairy, albeit one that couldn't heal. Banking on luck and the assumption that they didn't know she was a guardian fairy, the prince was probably at the medic room, and Navi might be there with him. It was a starting point.

He had two hours and fifty minutes.

He tried not to slink into the hall, because slinking was something he'd come to associate with Reoh-Link. Instead, he kept his back straight, his head high, and peered around the corner into the deserted hall with the least slinkiness as possible. But in the end, Link had no choice but to move as quietly as he could to the far side of the hall, keeping an eye on the guards posted on the higher floors, and that was slinking no matter how straight his back was. If slinking got him to the medic room safely, however, he couldn't really complain, and with that he opened the first door he saw.

To his surprise, he was right in one. But it was empty, save the Rito prince on the bed, breathing shallowly with his legs covered with a light blanket.

Link wouldn't have gone further than the door if he hadn't been determined to scour the room completely. The air in the room felt… bad. There wasn't any other way of putting it. It was nasty on his skin, seeping through the constant layer of salt from the ocean and dungeon grime. It was ugly and sour and, if Link wanted to be blunt about it, dead. In the loosest sense of the word, since in Link's experience, there were an unfortunately high number of types of dead.

He loped as quietly as he could into the room, checking everywhere he could for a bottle or a blue light, poking where he could when absolutely sure he wasn't going to make anything crash, explode, or make a similarly loud noise. He was going to be quick, he told himself; he couldn't afford to spend so much time in a place where Navi wasn't, but at the same time he had to make sure that he didn't miss her in his haste. The beds lined up neatly on one side were all empty except for the prince's, and the cabinets on the other side were filled with equipment that was probably useful to a doctor, but was very much not to Link.

The search of the room turned up empty. He had two hours and thirty-five minutes.

He cast the young prince lying in the dead air a sympathetic glance, but he had better places to be. Silently, he slunk out of the medic room, eyed the ramp, and wondered how far up he could get without being noticed by the posted guard. Certainly not further than any of the rooms he'd managed to reach previously.

Trapped to the ground floor's corners by the guard posted on the higher levels, he prowled in the safety of the corner shadows, knowing that he was doing nothing when he should have been doing something and there was nothing he could do about doing nothing. He had two hours left when he left Rito Hall completely to look for a window to crawl through.

There were, in fact, no windows to crawl through. Or rather, there were windows, but they were too high up, and any handholds he found on the mountain face didn't extend up to the steeper, smoother parts of the mountain. He ended up at the spring, barely sparing the water's surface a glance as he paced a rut in the dirt, and realized all at once that if he didn't get his thoughts in order, he'd be no better off than if he was back in his cell. He might as well walk back there himself and get to work smoothing out those bars he'd ruined. And neither Navi nor a solution to this misunderstanding were waiting in that cell.

He had one hour and fifty minutes left when he made his second interesting discovery of the night.

Although it wasn't much of a discovery, as he would have been blind to miss it; the dark waters surrounding the faint glow in the water had the same effect night did on torchlight. Link stood on the water's edge staring at this light in the seamless water, studying the way its light rippled from underneath, floating just below the surface.

Strange, certainly.

But he'd found help in stranger places before.

Two minutes later, he emerged from the spring with a glass sphere about the size of his head, a soft orange glow—no, aura—from somewhere deep inside, hovering under the outer shell like it had never emerged from the water. He shivered under his soaked shirt, uncomfortably cold in the night air, and traced the symbols on the surface of the glass with a finger to confirm his suspicion that it was comfortably warm despite the chill.

No matter what he did with it, it was nothing more than glass. Magic, of course. But nothing he could use to save Navi. With a frown, he sat side-by-side with whatever the thing was at the edge of the spring, like it was a person to share company and time with, and watched the slightest breeze blow ripples barely outlined in white by the moon. It just sat there in the dirt, doing nothing but drying the last drops of moisture from its surface and glowing. It reminded him of Navi, in a very abstract and illogical way. Maybe he just missed her, because the comparison made no sense. Navi wasn't ever that quiet, anyway.

(What does a man cling to as he drowns?)

The sphere maintained its silence when Link looked down in the water and, with sudden clarity, found himself with not so much a second plan as he did determination to keep going despite the lack of one. It was foolhardiness, he recognized from a distance, but he'd be lying if he said that he didn't think it'd, for once, work. There was no doubt in his mind that he would have her back, regardless of whatever scabs might linger.

When he stood again, he had one hour and twenty-five minutes. He felt better, though. He found himself with a strange new liking to the glass sphere, whatever it was, and it found itself a place in his bag.

The strange and significantly less-panicked mood lasted with him back inside the gloomy Hall, and he surveyed the area with clearer eyes. Start at the beginning, he told himself. He needed to get past the guard, and there were ways to do that without charging him with a sword. He had a shield and bottles and, if worst came to worst, the masks. He could do something with that, and if he couldn't, then there were places he could get things he could do something with.

The medic room, for instance.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

It was because he was rummaging in the furthest cabinet in said medic room that he didn't hear the footsteps coming down the ramp until they were almost at the door. But with three seconds to hide, he merely looked at the door, swiped a metal tool at random, and slid himself behind a bed on the far side of the room. He was quite comfortable there, actually. When the two pairs of feet padded into the room, he merely tilted his head to examine the shoes, picking out first the long robe covering what he guessed were well-made, practical pair of slippers, and the pair of bandaged feet (talons?) beside them. Link thought back, recalling with some difficulty from his mental notes that a majority of the Rito population wore bandages place of shoes. More specifically, postmen.

"This is him," said a voice, and Link frowned just listening to the stern tone.

There was a long silence that stretched afterwards, and Link wondered if the man was talking to himself, or if his conversation partner was simply unwilling to reply. He had one hour and fifteen minutes, Link guessed, and frowned. If this visit was going to last a while, it would be a problem. His confident determination—so strong at the beginning, worn down in a matter of an hour, then haphazardly restored—was already beginning to fray, and panicking wasn't something Link was keen on.

Then: "I'm sorry."

The suddenness of her clear, high voice was like a splash of freezing water to the face. In the darkness under the bed, Link blinked, willing his hands not to clench. Navi was here. In this room. Right now. He'd actually found her—or rather, she'd found him, but that was besides the point.

"For what?" asked the first voice.

"For your son's… situation," said Navi, a quiet glimmer of genuine sorrow in her voice. "And for not being able to help. I wish I could."

There was a pause, and when the voice spoke again, Link could hear some measure of forced thoughtfulness in it. "You have stated that because you are a… guardian fairy, you cannot heal my son without dying. Is that correct?"

"Yes," said Navi, in a tired voice that implied they'd been through this already.

"And that there is a method—albeit an invalid one—that would support this claim."

"Trust me," said Navi. "It wouldn't do anything for the situation if you knew."

"Still."

"It wouldn't do anything!" Navi repeated.

"What harm," asked the voice stiffly, "could possibly come from simply stating your reasons?"

"Plenty," retorted Navi. "Just because you don't know what they are, doesn't mean that they aren't valid."

There was a silence that ceded her point more clearly than words. At length, the voice sighed, "I've never seen another fairy as adverse to healing as you."

"Other fairies don't have reasons not to, which, if I may repeat, are valid regardless if you know them or not."

Fabric shifted as the feet slid, stopped, then walked out of Link's tiny rectangle of sight. The voice sounded defeated, certainly, but somehow all the more determined for it. "We shall continue this conversation at a later time," the voice said. One battle's victory wouldn't decide the war, and neither would one battle's loss.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Under Rito Hall in the dungeons, one Rito guard (Basht, Bisht's sibling counterpart) lay motionless on the cell floor. He couldn't move, nor blink, nor speak—yet.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

But he could hear and he could see, and sometimes that's more than enough.

"Wait!"

The rustle of the fabric stilled, almost too quickly.

"It's selfish of me," said Navi softly. "I'm sorry. I should never have mentioned any method; not when I didn't intend to admit what it was to anybody—not you, or Quill, or my ward, or even myself. I," and she paused, her voice trailing, "act only in the best interests of myself and those I love—"

"So does everybody else," said the voice, and there was a creak and a breath of air as the door shut.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, like a mantra worn and old.

I'm sorry.

Basht's eye twitched, and his fingers began to move. In his hand was a pocketknife, standard-issue and a gift from his brother. To keep him safe, or so Bisht said.

I'm sorry.

He apologized to Bisht quietly in his head, below the determination that willed his arm forward, for abusing his knife. Then, with growing strength, he gripped the metal and struck the bars of the cell.

Link leaned out from behind the bed, taking stock of the situation: a Rito holding Navi, his back turned towards Link, standing at the prince's bedside and inadvertently blocking the doorway. No matter how he sliced it, stealth didn't seem to be an option… Unless he used another mask, which he wasn't really keen on; he'd done perfectly well without them for all these years, and he didn't intend to make them his crutch. He twirled the metal tool he'd taken earlier (and still hadn't bothered to identify) between his fingers, staring at a single nick in the stone floor.

And that was when the clanging began.

It was the unmistakable sound of metal clashing against metal, but unlike that sleek sound of a drawn sword or the crisp violence of swordplay, there was something desperately alarming about the unsteady, graceless rhythm. Link's head shot up, and he dared a peek around the edge of the bed to see the Rito's turned towards the door like a startled bird. One hand was reaching for the doorknob; the other clutched a bottle of blue light.

Link's eyes narrowed as he shot up from behind the bed without thinking. If the postman took Navi with him, then—Link didn't even know if there was a "then." He was this close to getting her back. Why in the name of Hyrule would he let her out of his grasp again? His feet were moving before he realized it, faster and faster, and by the time the Rito turned around Link was too close to stop.

"You—" said the Rito, and by some unfortunate instinct, tucked the bottle under his arm and turned away to protect it.

The clanging was louder, more insistent, and there were voices outside in the hall. Faint and distinctly distant, but still there.

"You've come back for her," stated the Rito, sternly, as if it were an admonishment. "Even though you had a chance to escape."

Link didn't stop. The Rito began to back away. Observant as the Rito may have been, he was a postman, not a fighter.

"I'm sorry," Link said, and he meant it; but he still didn't slow down. "But I need her back."

The Rito's heel hit the wall, and with a quick glance, he realized that he'd been backing up not towards the door, but the wall adjacent. Grit scratched under Link's foot as he slid himself to bar the door in one fluid move. Just as swiftly, the postman squared his shoulders and stood his ground, Navi still hidden in the folds of his sleeves. Link could only see one sliver of light under the fabric, and for one frozen second he thought he saw Navi's wings beating against the relentless glass.

Then the Rito shifted again, cloth fell over the sliver that was Navi, and the postman said, "I cannot allow you to take this fairy. The Chieftain… The prince needs her."

I act only in the best interests of—

"And I will do my best to stop you from taking this fairy if I must," said the postman.

Link's eyebrows rose, and he ducked his head, unsure if he was hiding a smile or a frown. It felt somewhat ridiculous, to be threatened by a postman; but Link paused and carefully picked apart what was fact and what was arrogance from the notion, and eventually decided that even thought it was, ultimately, still ridiculous, it was no less a difficult situation.

Because once, long time ago, Link sprained his ankle running in the Kokiri Forest. He'd been running alone, at the edge of the Lost Woods. It'd been Mido who found him. Idiot, Mido had taunted, dancing just out of Link's reach. Clumsy, oafish fairyless, doesn't even have a fairy to run back and tell the rest of the Kokiri where he was. Where was Saria now to stand up for him? Where was he going to run when Mido ground his face into the dirt? And when Mido was done with his jeering and sneering, he ran off and said that he'd leave Link there to rot, or turn into a Stalchild; whichever came first.

To the Kokiri, it was always innocent before proven guilty. Trusted until shown a liar. Loved until warped, beaten, twisted to be hated.

Five minutes later, Fado came to find him. "I heard that you were injured," she said. But after she'd pulled him to his feet, he asked where she heard it from, and she looked away with her usual stare and smile and said, "A shrubbery told me. You know, the one outside the shop? It grew a mouth and told me that there might have been a fairyless idiot around here with a twisted ankle. If you know what I mean."

I act only in—

"I'm sorry," he said. "I act only in the best interests of everyone."

The second Deku nut of the night fell, but no matter how many times Link apologized, it still never felt right.

That was how he found himself running through the night air towards the beach, empty bottle in his hand and Navi's glow mostly muffled in his pocket, her high voice mumbling "Oh sweet Nayru" over and over. The hum of Rito wings flapping was soft and distant, but no less harsh and no less insistent, and it competed with the hum of the ocean for the dominant white noise. He wondered, vaguely, how it'd gone from house arrest to a jail cell in the first place—he'd been so concerned about Navi that he realized he'd never bothered to wonder what had happened, or what the uproar was about. Dark shapes littered the sky, pouring out from the light studding the great mountain, and Link somehow found it in himself to feel bad for them—like he should be fixing whatever misunderstanding had taken place. He was leaving this island to its chaos. Even if he only had forty-five minutes until dawn, and there was a world to save, a sister to rescue, an evil to defeat, Link remembered that a long time ago, he didn't believe in justification.

What bothered him more was that they'd taken his mask, and his mask had been, unfortunately, his hat.

He stopped at the edge of the tunnel and glanced upwards. The Ritos were still mostly on the other side of the island, where it was more logical to hide, and he only glimpsed a few shadows moving against the night clouds. He took his chances and, somewhat by feel and somewhat by squinting in the moonlight, bolted across the ledge and slid down the rock face to a small niche in the side of the mountain. Link could feel Navi flinch through the fabric at the gritty noise the rock face made against his bare skin, and he didn't dare check his palm for scratches.

Feeling overly paranoid, he leaned out of his small crevice and checked the sky again. Somehow, nobody had seen him illuminated by Navi's glow, and with that he knew the battle was already halfway over. He had thirty-five minutes left until dawn—the kid and Reoh-Link would still be there. If he simply rounded the corner and ran that last stretch of beach, he'd get to the boat, and then it would be up to how fast Kid-Link could get them off the island and over the horizon. So he dove out from under his cover and sprinted across the wet sand; and just for a moment the air was rushing around him, through and against him as he made the last dash under the moon's watchful stare and the Ritos swarming the sky. With Navi at his side.

And then all of it disappeared—the wind, the deafening noise in his ears, the smile on his face he hadn't realized was there. It was just him, Navi, and the ocean.

"Link?" asked Navi. "What's wrong?" She glanced at the endless sea, the silhouettes of waves sliding over the cold sand. "Link, why are we stopping?" She hovered over his shoulder, light dimming and shifting in worry. But he simply looked at her, the empty beach, the footprints on the sand that yet to wash away, the hollow ground where the boat had been, and said nothing at all.

There was nothing to say to the space where an apology should have been.

CH38 END

A/N: At least I might be able to get the next chapter up faster because it has less awkward Navi in it and goddammit Navi why are you so hard to wriiiiiiite.