"You're not what I expected."

Bazz and his newest potential recruit, a girl recently graduated from the Training Academy, sat on the cushioned chairs in front of the fire. They had abandoned the part of his office where the desk sat, cluttered with official papers, various reports, courtly invitations, as well as other odds and ends. He had grown tired of the sight, insisting they not hold this interview where the dust bunnies could hear them. She had given him a strange look for his effort at levity.

Now, his peduncle twitched with curiosity. Few Hyruleans could understand such tells, however, especially in this new era, so Bazz settled for resting his head upon a hand instead, and leaned forward in his seat slightly.

"And how is that?" he asked.

"Ummm. Ah. I mean. Sir. Sir Bazz. Gods - I know...I know…" The young woman covered her cheeks, shaking her head as she trembled visibly. "Oh. I knew I would mess this up again…"

Bazz raised a hand. "Fear not. Most are slightly nervous when they first meet me." He gave her his warmest smile. Which, if Nan were to be trusted, still looked like something that was a half-grimace, or far worse if he were to show his teeth. She said it made him look like the sharkhead again. "Most have not met a Zora before."

The girl shook her head furiously, blonde pigtail-braids whipping her in the face. "It's not that!" she denied, then covered her mouth, eyes wide for a brief moment. "It's just...every time...every time I get to this stage, I eat my own hand. I mean... Swallow. Swallow my elbow. Lick my knee? Ummm..."

Bazz fought down the slight twitch to smirk. "Put your foot in your mouth?"

"That's it!" The young lady pumped her arm excitedly and grinned, reminding him briefly of Sidon. "Oh gods. I shouldn't...probably shouldn't be excited about getting that right, huh?"

Seems genuine, a fact in her favor… He could appreciate that at least, given the flock of posturing peacocks that had tried to join his squad. They had failed as miserably as a keese attempting to fly through a hurricane.

He gave her a nod. "How am I not like you expected, Miss Linkle?"

Bazz shrugged off the faded ache of a missing friend with the ease of long practice. The man he had known as Link was long dead and gone. Like a dozen others in the Royal Guard alone, she was named for the hero of old. There were even more, of course, in the city itself, and tens more still throughout the land, if not hundreds. There was even a Lady Linkette among the Knights, and a Link-Link in the eastern district who made pottery. Parents often hoped their child might be the hero of legend, or, at least, try to live up to his legacy. That was the problem with legacies, however; they overshadowed the destinies of many a poor soul which would not meet said expectations. He felt a wave of pity for this young girl, though he privately wondered if a child so short could really be sixteen.

"Ummm..." the girl began, then looked out the window at the snow drifting onto the parapet of the nearby castle wall. Such were the "sights" he had in his second floor office: mostly white walls, white fields, and white bricks. Only one scraggly pine and the stink of the moat in summer, which was ice flowing under his window now. The King had thought he would relish the sight of water, he supposed, but what Zora would enjoy a river of grime and sludge? "Everyone says you're stoic. Resigned. Even apathetic and uncaring. That's what they say."

His peduncle fell flat. He wasn't surprised, but it still stung. Even hurt, if he were honest.

Bazz calmly folded his hands in front of his chin. "I see," he said, quietly.

"But that's not what I think," she said steadily, gaze still turned aside. "Not that you're super emotive like Nan. But I just think you're thoughtful. Patient. Kind and good like she is."

He doubted that. Nan was a far better person than he. Still, Bazz smiled a little. "You've met my young squire?

"Yeah. She…"

"Be honest," he insisted with a small gesture of his hand. "Many of your fellow cadets think she cheated to get her position, or are at least jealous that she did not have to take those ridiculously expensive tests, get accepted into the Academy, graduate, and be top of her class to become a squire to a renowned knight."

"Nah," she said with a careless shrug. "It's that she's just about as open as a book."

"Ah."

"And honest as a goat."

Bazz snorted. Linkle had no idea.

"I've raised goats," she said, charging ahead. "And I don't get that saying. They're stinkers, and will eat your books, banknotes, and bills if your back's turned for even a sec."

"You were a rancher, then?"

She gave a nod, suddenly mum. And he noticed, for the first time, the hint of well-formed muscle beneath her new but unordained brown tunic.

He should have assumed something of this sort. Unlike all the other potential recruits that had tried to join his squad, she had not dressed to impress him, wearing the finest coats, robes, and even the most ridiculous hats with feathers and gems he had ever seen. They made Vaati's noble garb look plain and unadorned.

When more was not forthcoming, he asked: "Where?"

"A day south of Hateno."

The fire crackled in the corner in the cold silence. He drummed his fingers against his knee. The little pendulum clock above the desk tocked away.

"And...?" he prodded.

"Do we have to talk about it?" she asked, finally meeting his gaze. "It's basically nowhere. Barely shanties. We have more goats than people."

"You're ashamed of it then?"

Her eyes fell away again. "Yeah, guess you could say that," she muttered. "I was the best sword in my village. The best at spear and bow, too. Then I came here. It mattered squat. Compared to those rich kids, I barely knew blade from hilt. And they always get into squads like this one."

He hummed. The youths who had tried did tend to be quite vocal about the Academy's teachings and their parents' lives. Especially those, but Bazz cared little for faux nobility.

"Prestigious ones, you might say…"

"Yeah."

"Then why so much as try?" he asked. "If you had figured that only those who have the pedigree or wealth could get this type of position, then why come here at all?"

"Nan's here," she said simply. "She's...like us." She took a breath. "And, well, we all know you haven't accepted most of the dandies who applied. They say you're picky. But I think that's not it."

"The King did say I could have my choice of guards."

"I'm sure ol' King Al meant for you to take three months to do it," she replied. A smile briefly crossed her face. "I just thought, if Nan could become a squire, you aren't the type of person to look down your nose at someone just because they were born in a barn."

Bazz made no motion to acknowledge Alphonus' attitude. The man was not pleased, true. He occasionally came by to ask about candidates, not-so-subtly hinting that this or that one could do, and Bazz would make agreeing sounds before pointing out that so many others were awaiting their turn to see if they had what it took, and it wouldn't hurt to at least hear them out so they all had a fair chance, yes?

And then the noblemen and ladies would visit, begging him to please let in their son? There were parties and drinks and rupees that were oh so casually mentioned, with the occasional burst of vitriolic retribution promised, which would never come to be.

It was a tiresome dance of politicking, but one he would not back down from. No matter how well-meaning Alphonus might be, he would not let that man put him on display as some decorative post. He was not some trophy of good-will to be showcased to the court like a pile of luminous stones without an ounce of true worth or value!

With a mental shove and a deep breath hidden by his elbow like a cough, Bazz doused the anger that threatened to rise. He had accepted this post for his own reasons, and that was that. The prestige and power earned would serve his own ends in the fullness of time. After all, the best way to look for his own kind was to gain resources and allies. He could bide his time. Patience was a virtue he had become awfully good at practicing.

"Contrary," he replied, slowly straightening his back, "I look down on everyone equally. You are all far shorter than I am, thus, I have little choice but to!"

She actually laughed at that. See? He could make a joke. Nan ought to be proud. He was not as severe as a bad storm!

Linkle smiled, but didn't relax. "Basically, I thought to hell with it, and decided to try anyway." She swallowed, tone somewhat subdued. "It was either this, or go back home with nothing to show for it but two years gone."

So, he was her last shot too. Honest to a fault, this one, he mused.

"That isn't a wise thing to tell me, I would think."

"I should go, then." She lowered his gaze. She did that an awful lot. "I guess I'm not cut out…"

"No," he said, nodding slightly. He waited until she had risen from her seat, eyes still downcast, then added: "I believe I can build upon someone with your potential."

She stared, dumbfounded. "You're letting me join?"

"Unless you would rather go back to raking manure," he replied. "I suggest you get going. I must write a report to the King."

The girl forgot to bow before she left, but Bazz barely noticed. Such things were trivial, especially in private.

He would normally have agreed with her earlier assessment. Not much in this conversation had made him think she was truly a good choice, and the report he had gotten before their meeting detailing her performance at the Academy was less than stellar to say the least. She had a tendency to fall asleep in class, and only seemed to care about how to stab or shoot things, not tactics, strategy, or decorum. But when Nan had caught sight of her name, she had begged him to give her an interview.

And Nan needed more friends around her own age out here. It would not hurt to add one.

/-/

The thick scarf itched her face in the freezing cold. It was nearly unbearable, the itching slowly turning into an agony she had never known before, as the wind whistled through the bare trees. But that wasn't important. All else had been seized the moment her secrets had been laid bare. If there was anything she could hold onto, it was this.

Ruuya waited for that pretty stableboy with the nest of blond hair to turn his back to her, then crept to the open doorway and showed herself into the stables. A step to the side to be out of direct sight, and down the stalls of white and brown stallions. They were so skinny, it was a wonder how any of those horses held a knight in full armor.

No. Ruuya shook her head. Not skinny, but...less solid. Kept more as symbols of wealth rather than a show of strength. How strange, then, that both could not be shown at once.

Nearer the back, closer to the small firepit and the long, black pipe that let out smoke she spotted her horse. Upon seeing her, Ruuya pulled down the azure scarf so that it rested beneath her chin and smiled.

"Jamila!" she greeted softly.

Ruuya ran a hand over the mare's head, between the eyes and down to the snout, which she gave a few pats. A whinny and a lick on her nose followed.

Ruuya laughed. She felt like she barely laughed these days. But it was winter, and with winter came cold and shadow. The memories were still so close, of the day she fell and nearly lost everything. And of the woman who had saved her. Her other hand traced the weave of yarn where a long needle lay hidden. The woman was like a third mother, and even though her last gift itched a bit, she would not let it go.

She clung to good memories like a woman who had found a rare gem amidst the sands. They were as scarce as the laughter that Jamila had retrieved from some dark place within. A smidgen of flame that had yet to go out. She was grateful to both today of all days.

"I thought as much. Surrounded by voe who don't know better, yeah?"

She shoved a hand into the pocket of her outer coat. She wore three, and still felt no more than a flicker of warmth. How the Hyruleans, let alone Bazz, could walk around with only an extra layer of clothing, she did not know. Did they not shiver at every passing breeze? Was there fire magic in their blood? All that she knew was that they were monsters who found winter undaunting. The horse nosed her pocket, reminding Ruuya of her task.

"Yeah, yeah, just a sec." She shoved a hand into it and rummaged around. She felt around the sides, arm going deeper than it had any right to. Vaati, in a rare moment of real teaching, had helped her create a small bag of holding in the coat pocket, letting it hold a few potions, knick-knacks, and a knife in case of invasive voe or attack. He had explained, briefly, that she simply did not have the magical preserves to make a bigger one, much to her chagrin.

Ruuya's brain finally caught up with her. Right. The green apple. She stopped groping around and concentrated on the fruit she had taken from the kitchen. In a matter of seconds, the fruit materialized in her hand. She pulled it out, and proffered it to her horse. "Not sure if you'll like thi–"

After one sloppy lick that flung slobber all over her coat, scarf, and the few strands of red hair that curled and escaped her fur-lined cap, Jamila scooped up the apple and began to devour it with as much vigor as the King at a feast. Ruuya poorly stifled another laugh. Her old friend wasn't picky, it seemed.

"Should've brought more then."

Jamila snorted in agreement, smacking her lips.

"Oh oh oh!"

A muffled, young voice rang out through the stables, making a few of the more skittish jump. That number included Ruuya, who, while not a horse, frantically vaulted over the divider between her and Jamila. She all but threw herself into the stall, ingrained instincts screaming at her. She landed on the tips on her toes. The ones that hadn't been there in months.

Ruuya cursed her luck and landed clumsily on wooden inserts, then fell against Jamila's flank, and hugged it for dear life.

Her heart beat out an erratic rhythm, panicked. Who else would come to trouble the horses on today of all days? With four inches of snow on the ground and more on the way, she couldn't imagine anyone going for a pleasure ride in this dismal weather. Anyone sane, at least. It was probably one of those careless, stupid nobles who didn't understand the first thing about horses.

Her panic dissolved, burnt up in the flame of fierce, protective anger, and she reached into her pocket to draw her knife.

"Impa!"

At that name, she deflated against Jamila's side.

"Please, can we see the horsies?" the Princess begged. With care, Ruuya stepped to the edge of the stall and stuck her head out. "You never let me see them anymore."

The woman sighed, sounding harried by her young charge. "Never?" Impa said, trying her best to hide her annoyance. "As I recall, we saw them four days ago."

"Four-ever days ago." The pair came around the corner of the closest padlock despite Impa's words. Zelda, when she spotted Ruuya, came to an abrupt stop, then grinned, the smile all but breaking her face in two. Cheerfully, the little girl waved a tiny mitten at the Gerudo. "Ruu's spending time with Jamie. Can't we spend time with them, too?"

Impa closed her eyes, but relented. "If Ms. Ruuya deigns to give you permission," she said, then met Ruuya's eyes. The gaze was almost pleading. What had Zelda done to make this nearly unflappable woman so... "Ruuya?"

"I don't mind," she replied. "Jamila actually likes her." An amazing fact. The horse had even bitten Nan. But Zelda, oh, she loved the little Princess. And for good reason. "Do you want me to look after her for a while, Lady Impa?"

The Sheikah visibly relaxed. "That would help," she admitted, then added quickly, "Zelda. Do not wander off and stay where Ms. Ruuya can see you. Do not make her run after you... And," she added with the most stern expression she could muster, "do not drink anything without permission if Ms. Ruuya takes you to the mixing room."

"But…" Zelda said with a pout, "it tasted like strawberries!"

And had knocked her out the rest of the day. Vaati had then decided they should use raspberries instead, noting that the girl didn't seem one bit fond of those.

Impa raised an eyebrow, which silenced her charge. She looked to Ruuya, gave her the most traditional death stare she had ever seen, then bid the Princess good-bye.

Ruuya swallowed, suddenly apprehensive. Din protect her, she'd just have to hope the little Princess would behave.

Behind her, Jamila whinnied. The Princess ran over and immediately pulled out a couple sugar cubes from her coat.

Ruuya shook her head and leaned against the wall. Such a spoiled mare.

/-/

Vaati was utterly miserable. Into the potion room he shuffled, head heavy and nose running so fast it had become red and inflamed. He had been put up for five hellish days already, and today marked the sixth. Unable to actually head to his manor, he had slept in the office adjacent to the potion room for most of this past week. Many assumed an immortal life must be absent of such slouchs of misery, but he had found the opposite true.

Not only did he get sick just as often as mere mortals, but he swore upon the closest god, he got sicker than them all, too. That oath, unfortunately, was marked with a powerful sneeze, all but hurling him across the room, where he knocked his knee against the closest, giant mixing pot.

The cauldron toddled, threatening to tip over, but was quickly caught by two strong arms buried underneath what looked like ten layers of cloth. Ruuya grunted, glaring darkly at him from across the cooling, green liquid, her eyes as sharp as amber knives.

"What?" he managed, voice yet hoarse, though stronger than it had been the day before.

He purposely turned so that he was not breathing over the fresh batch of green potion. If he did that and the sickness got into the tincture, it would ruin the magical bindings and they would have to throw away the whole thing. An awful waste of his work, even though Ruuya still did the mixing.

"I…" He sniffed. "This is...my...my…mixing room." He sneezed again, but only a little, and covered his mouth with his elbow.

"Zelda is here," Ruuya said in a low voice. At the sound of her name, the pink-clad princess poked her head around Ruuya's left shoulder. The child's usual smile was missing. As was her all-too-cheerful greeting that grated his ears. Instead, the infernal girl stared at him, blue eyes widened with shock. "And you, Master Gufuu, just cursed by Hylia's name."

He blinked, his head too stuffed to comprehend why that might be an issue. The gods and goddesses of this land hated him. Why shouldn't he let his displeasure be known?

"And?"

"She's four," Ruuya deadpanned.

Vaati sniffled, took out his newest handkerchief, and blew into the silken lilac cloth. He'd wasted a good hundred of them on this stupid bout of plague.

"And?" he repeated. "Why should you care? You've heard worse by that age. Eventually, innocent ears must be open to such words."

"You said "damn" and "shit"."

He raised an eyebrow in lieu of talking.

"It doesn't matter if I knew it," she said. "She's a princess. If the King finds out…"

"I'm dying, and that's what gets your goat?" he scoffed. "No concern for the Great Gufuu. No fear that you might lose everything if I go off and kick the pail. Not an ounce of concern…"

Ruuya, somehow, bent her arms and put her hands on her hips despite all that cloth. "Give it a rest," she said. "It's not that bad. I had it last week. Nan got it the week before. I swear, you voe always overreact to these things… It's just a cold."

"Not an ounce of concern," he bemoaned, then shifted his gaze to Zelda. She had pulled out a cup from somewhere and scoped herself a serving–to the rim and spilling over–of green potion. That was not his concern, and anyway, the worse it would do was put her to sleep. Probably. That particular side effect could only be a plus, considering. "Can you believe this woman?"

Zelda, having regained her usual deposition, tilted her head. "What does "damn" mean?"

Ruuya paled, then spun on her ankle and faced the Princess. "It's a word you should only use around us," she said, scooping the Princess up in one arm. She dumped the green potion back into the pot, quietly reminding the girl not to sample the potions, again. Zelda huffed at that in pouty disdain. "It shows you're upset or mad at something or someone. It's a way to exclaim it. But it must be our secret."

"Why?" Typical. Always asking questions, just like her predecessors. Wait–

"Because." Ruuya shrugged, then placed a lid on the pot of green potion. "Impa would take it away if you did. If you hide that you know it, you can keep using it."

Unusually solemn, the little Princess nodded, but what she exclaimed next was anything but. "Like "poo"!"

"Ah, sure?" Ruuya said as she started to grab a few ingredients off the nearest shelf.

Unlike the potion shop back in Windfall, he now had a wealth of magical supplies. The mixing room had built-in wooden shelves along both long walls. One was now filled with bottles and bottles of finished potions and elixirs. The other was stacked with various ingredients, from the rare to the mundane. And that did not compared to what they had in the storage room…

"She doesn't like when I call my tutors poo-poo faced meanies because they're mean and make me do redundun work. Impa says it's impolite for a princess to use such language, and I must be on my best behavior at all times."

"A strict one, is she?" Vaati asked, having taken the most comfortable seat in the potion room in the meantime. He worked on opening a new bottle of red potion. It would alleviate his symptoms for a few hours, but unlike with minor cuts or bruises, it would not heal him. Colds always came roaring back, and he still had yet to figure out why. "Reminds me of my old master."

Zelda climbed up on the nearest stool. "He was a damn meanie, too?"

Vaati placed the lid aside on the long table. "The worst." He took a slug of red potion, wrinkling his nose in disgust when he tasted the merest hint of raspberries. He despised those things. Sweet. Red. Medicine-y. But he would rather not deal with the Princess becoming truly ill because she chose to overdose on this. The consequences of such would follow him, haunting his steps and complicating his plans. Thus, he suffered even more than mere sniffles. He suffered, also, from having to consume the worst fruit on the planet. "Once, after I used the wrong incarnation when mixing up a blue potion, he made me write out the correct one a thousand times…"

Ruuya visibly shivered as she worked. He had taught her that specific spell, once. It was actually a short poem. A lot of complex spells were like that, that supposedly helped children memorize them.

It was funny. He could recall details like this, but he could never remember the man's name or face. Not even where he learned. The only remaining scraps of certainty he had was that his former master was a jerk, and that he despised the man as much as Ruuya despised the cold.

Zelda gasped. "My stupid tutors only ever make me write things fifty times!"

"Ah ha," he said. "They are far nicer than that…what's the word those soldiers use? Oh, yes. Asshat." Ruuya would just have to make sure Zelda did not use that one, either. The Gerudo, who had started making a new batch of orange elixir, glared. "That was hardly the worst, mind you. He had a thing for making magic artifacts. Those accursed things got me in trouble more than once…"

/-/

Nan had learned quickly she did not know the first thing about becoming a knight. And tonight, staring at the book on etiquette Bazz had demanded she read as part of said training, she found she wished to throw it into the hearth and watch it and her dreams burn to ash. She just could not comprehend why this was one bit important to those who ought to be charged with defending the weak and innocent. Knights fought to protect, not how to correctly bow, curtsy, and hold a cup of tea at brunch or luncheon. She jolted her pinky up and stared as it curled, still unsure if that was the correct gesture despite that cap'n had used it a hundred times.

Who in heck had even thought to make lunch fancy anyway? Bazz insisted this was of great importance, that knowing how to act at court with elegance and grace was not just expected, but required of a knight lest they be mere brutes with blades. Tonight, she mused, she'd rather be a brute.

"I just don't get it at all," she muttered aloud, head resting in her hands hovering above the book. Her bedroom–the smallest of four in what was technically Vaati's fancy gifted mansion–was otherwise empty, and so was the rest of the house, as even Ruuya had yet to return. She could only imagine that Vaati was working her to the bone again, so that he could make someone else feel just as miserable as he did himself from the cold he had caught. The man was petty like that. "What's so bad about giving a good belch after a good meal? Paa always said it was a compliment to the chef!"

Hoo hoo.

Great. It seemed the owl that enjoyed roosting outside her room agreed. Or was just perching amongst the gargoyles again, trying to spot a mouse with its keen eyes. Still, she liked to think at least someone understood her pain, even if it was just her strange and frequent avian visitor.

"And then, it goes on and on and on about different social cues and how each is somehow linked to politics," she said, sticking out her tongue. Though the windows were shuttered to keep in the heat from the small fire in the hearth, so the owl could not witness her disgust. "Did you know there are like ten different ways to say "excuse me"?"

Hoo. Hoo.

"Hey! I'm not whining!" she said, throwing open the shutters abruptly.

A fresh gust of wind and snow blew into her face, but Nan ignored the chill, sticking head out the window and twisting her neck to glare at the bird resting among the stone moblins and lynel. Well, Bazz had said that's what they represented, but the sculptor had clearly never visited the Dark World or seen either beast. Sure, these were ugly as hell, but the moblins were too bulky, and the lynels barely had the body of a horse. They might as well have been just lions. Nan spotted her nightly visitor among them, its form big and bulky but still hidden in shadow.

It gave a hoot, this time sounding thoroughly displeased with her antics.

"It's not like you're my mother!"

The owl did not hoo in reply. Instead, it took off, disappearing into the night. Nan watched as it did, elbows resting on the windowsill, warm breath making trails of steam in the cold. She eyed the spot where the speck disappeared. The owl had probably left the fancy district already. The slums had more rats, anyways.

Snow drifted onto her hair, flecks of white against dry brown. The air was silent of any laughter or pleasantries. The familiar colors of forest green and "honorable" purple proudly displayed outside people's homes had no place here. Here, folks sat weird statues on their lawns, and talked in circles, and took forever to say what they were gonna say. Nobody really wondered what the weather was gonna be like, or if you had a new recipe. They didn't care for a plate of kinda-smooshed brownies or for a young'un with no "formal education" to walk side by side with the newest knight. They just wanted stuff all to themselves.

Another gust of wind brought in more snow. Nan gave a lonesome sigh, her head sinking into her arms.

"I miss her, you know," she said to the shadows and the snow. Part of her hoped that the owl would reply like in the stories, or that Ruuya would sling open her door and ask her who, exactly, she was speaking to. But the Gerudo's uncanny knack to show up at just the right time failed that night. Nan huffed, fresh tears springing to her eyes despite that she had sworn she was done with this crying thing. A brave knight-in-training did not cry. She wasn't a child anymore. Everyone needed Nan to be strong now. "And paa. And the twins. I thought we were heading right back, you know?"

She had really believed that they were just escorts. That they would return to Windfall right after Vaati and Ruuya were settled. After all, Bazz had the guard, he was their captain. She had her family, and while Ruuya was like family...

"I feel like I abandoned them," she said to the night, but knew that wasn't exactly it. But, Nan had never been the best at understanding her own emotions. They were as puzzling to her as the powers maa had left behind. The legacy, really, she had managed to inherit. She summoned a thread of light, fidgeting with it and weaving it around her fingers instead of making it into anything useful. "But, I want to be here too."

She let the light dissipate and cast herself in midnight gloom.

"I wish maa were here. She always knew what to do. I just don't. I want to go back home. Help paa like I should. But...I can't just go and leave everyone here, either. I can't. It's like having my heart split in two. Half is here, half's back home, and all of it's broken up, and shredded, and tattered, too."

It seemed so much safer to say to the dark. When no one was about. When everyone was absent. Her shoulders drooped.

"I just don't know what to do. Nothing is right anymore."

It had been so much easier when maa still lived. She wished, sincerely, again, that she would just come back. That the world, now shattered, could be glued back together again. But there were too many pieces, and no one, no matter how strong, could fix the pottery that had broken.

The owl gave a sad and elongated "hoo".

Nan's head poked up. This time, it had done so behind her. How had it gotten inside? Had she really let her guard down that badly?

Nan whirled, swiping snow and sleet off the windowsill with her abrupt movement. The fire had all but died, leaving the room nearly pitch except for the owl that now perched on top of her dresser. Somehow, it gave off its own cold and haunting light. Its feathers, as white as snow. Its eyes, large, dark, and blue. These seemed aglow with a strange and subtle power, a million stars shining in their depths.

It gave another "hoo".

Her heart raced. Nan found that she was weeping, but she did not know why.

"You didn't actually leave me?"

The owl lifted its beak then lowered it. A gesture, Nan guessed, that resembled a nod. But then, it disappeared, leaving only a trail of white feathers and dissipating fae lights in its wake, like the lights in the Dark World that sometimes awoke on misty mornings.

Then it hooted, behind her, again.

This time, Nan turned around more slowly, and glared at the owl now roosting on the windowsill. It tilted its head, mischief alight in starlit eyes.

"That's a nifty trick," she said, wiggling a finger in the owl's face. Luckily it didn't nip or peck it. "But you could've said something soon–"

"Nan! Are you alright?"

Ruuya all but slammed the door open and stepped inside, bearing a light. Nan looked briefly back over her shoulder, but the owl had gone...and the window had shut on its own, leaving her in the dark except for the lamp Ruuya bore.

"Oh, ah," she began, recalling that Ruuya's chambers were right below her own and that the woman had probably heard her shouting even if she hadn't been that loud. She hoped. Shit. Nan glanced around her room for inspiration and found the book of etiquette sitting open on her desk. "It's just this stupid book! Who cares which spoon you use for soup, right? Soup's for slurpin' not for eating!"

Nan plastered on a grin so wide it hurt her cheeks to bear it. It felt like her face might crack beneath the strain.

Ruuya glanced at the book, then sighed, shaking her head. "Right, well, if you need anything…" The Gerudo pointed at her chest. "You can knock on my door, alright? Us vai have to stick together." She paused, then left her lamp on the desk. It was lit by a small yet powerful flame; Din's Fire, one of the spells maa had taught Ruuya back in Windfall. "Sav'orr, Naneth."

Nan nodded. The door clicked shut, leaving her alone once more.

"Thanks."

Then she heard a distant hoot, and smiled in the new light.

KD: If you recall, Vaati told Ruuya originally that the dried strawberries were for the kids who might have to drink the red potion. But. He lied. They're for Vaati.

SQ: Hoo. Hoo.