The House

In the mountain village of Hateno, a small cottage sat away from the town just beyond the bridge over the Firly Pond. Limping in an hour after sunrise, Link, dismal, hood-up, ran into its auctioneer who was trying to save it from being torn down.

"Hey, traveler!" Link heard behind him. He stopped and cursed himself for doing so. He looked over his shoulder. A small man in a wide-brimmed hat was running after him, waving a poster. "Lookie, here! How would you like to buy Hateno's most treasured home?" The man paused, looking down at Link's clothes. They spoke for him: grass-stains blotched the knees of his pants and his elbows; blackened crisps lined the hem of his tunic and ate away at its length. Blood was drying at his bicep, he'd have to dress the bandage again. The week's grime sat stiffly on his flaking skin; his mouth tasted like mud.

"Good gods, boy." The man said, "Do you need a healer?"

Link shook his head and wiped the dirt turned up from his mouth. He turned to leave, feeling too tired for smiles and pleasantries.

"Look here, folks!" The man blurted out. "This traveler here is heading straight to the auction at the inn! Follow him!" Link heard behind him. He didn't realize he was heading that way. A small crowded bustling about the town center swallowed him. Exhausted, he let himself be pushed, pulled, and bumped around.

"E-Excuse me, s-sorry." He apologized, just trying to make his way through to the village's edge. There, the path would dissolve into a hike into the lush hills where the lab sat. Sifting through the crowd, he found himself anxious for the company of the scientists inside, Purah and her assistant Symin, where there was a lot to listen to and little pressure to say anything. A night with them amplified the voice in his head that spoke with so much encouragement, making this burdensome task ahead of him seemed doable. Maybe the pair would offer him a bath, a cup of coffee, and a meal like last time, though he did not want to assume or impose.

The crowd surged from the market. Children-maybe brothers and sisters by the look of their uniform red hair-were up to their noses in summer flowers, selling bouquets to people walking by. Dogs ran between the legs of a poor milkmaid spilling their pitchers of milk, then darted for a set of young boys who ran plates of meat between the butchery stalls. "Beef Flanks!" Yelled a butcher, "Get 'em hot! Beef flanks! Roast Duck!" In front of Link, a young boy with curly blonde hair yanked a large dairy cow on a red rope, losing his family in the crowd. The cow, decorated with a silly red bow around his neck, mooed indifferently. People stared.

To the people of Hateno, which acquainted Link upon his first arrival weeks before, travelers and nomads were rare to see. Locals rarely traveled beyond Fort Hateno . Monsters, age-old guardians, beasts, and legends of angry ghosts haunted the outer-lands. Memories of pouncing bokoblins, spiked clubs, and thrashing around through the dusk swallowed Link. He was glad that they were safe. He wanted them to be safe. Most Hylians-well, most of the small thousand Hylians that survived the disaster one hundred years ago-clung to towns. In a book out of the shelf of a researcher at Fort Hateno, Link learned that Hyrule Proper once consisted of ten major towns and twenty other settlements. Now, there were only two and both-Hateno and Lurelin-barely qualified as towns. Travelers who traversed between the two and to the regions beyond never lasted long.

When Link had first come to Hateno, he had met a beggar woman waiting for her son to come home from Hyrule fields. With some hot tea and a skewer cooked on the fire beside her, she had coaxed Link into sitting with her for a few minutes. Link sat on her Hateno-teal blanket by the village's entrance while she mused over stories, the steam of the tea snaked around her face. Her sharp tan cheeks pulled into a smile as she insisted that he, her son, would be back any day now. Apparently, she had been saying that for years. He had only heard this from a bystander.

Now the only way to get around the crowd was to approach the inn. But, Link needed to part the long line of villagers trailing down its stairs and into the courtyard, all holding luxury goods, items, or livestock. A cucco popped from a woman's basket and nipped at the weave. There, ahead of the woman with the chicken, scampered the small auctioneer with his wide-brimmed hat. He set-up a display board of the house. "Behold the Firly Manor!" He beamed. He shot a finger at a giggling couple arm and arm."Lovebirds! How about buying a house?" They laughed. Apparently, the town had been trying to sell this house for two years, but to no avail. Link found himself listening, but their bantering soon fell away with the shouting of vendors, some laughter from all around, and the banging of pots, pans, and other wares for sale.

Link tried to make himself go, but now that he had stopped and the weariness set in. Could he make it up the hill? He couldn't move. The crowd settled in around him while the auctioneer presented the display of the house and all he could do was look up at the display. He knew the house. He had seen it time to time during his visits. The illustration was spot on: bridge, wood shelter, apple trees all around, a two-story home with paneled windows, wood, stone, stucco, and a long chimney snaking high up above it. The illustrated bated him into wondering what it was like to live in a place of his own. He had been running since waking up a few months ago. What would it be like sitting by the fireplace every night with a book? He wondered how long it could take to turn the wood shelter into a stable and maybe supply it with hay. Behind it, there was a pond and a grand oak tree. He thought about the bark on his bareback, laying up against it while untying his boots. What if he put his feet in the water? Could he take time to enjoy the rustling of crickets around him? What about sitting in a room of still, undisturbed air?

When the auction started, Link pinned his eyes to the ground, pretending his fantasies were not his own, and turned to make his way out of the crowd, but it was too thick. His eyes watched the ground beneath him for an opening to step through, but there was nothing. Beside himself, his ears were listening to the crowd.

"One thousand rupees!" A woman pipped up behind him. Sigh. That was low-too low. It made him weak. He could shuffle that much in minerals he had saved from his trip up Death Mountain. He had three times as much on him. He could participate if he wanted to. Cursing himself, he tried to push away his feelings. What a senseless purchase a house would be right now. He listened for the voice for wisdom, but nothing came except an image. The house was a cliff off the ocean. If he stared at it long enough, he knew he would jump from it. He was getting used to the thought. Could he really buy it? Could he really dive?

The auctioneer bated him, "do I hear a fifteen hundred?" Crazy. He could not do it. Yet, the mysterious, slow-crawling, shy, and sheepish want of a place among families and homesteads deepened in him like a rock sinking in the river.

"Two thousand," called a man from the front. Thick went the want; it was solid inside of him. He shook his head as a last protest, but the wind picked up like a tease and he succumbed to a powerful desire for a place that was not blowing his hair in the eyes.

"Going once?"

The heat of the fleeting moment, racing like a horse on fire, fried out any remaining reluctance. The ax was coming down, but Link's hand rose for the house and all stared at him in the middle.

"What do you say, traveler?"

"Uh," he swallowed, "I-I can do t-three thousand."