Chapter 1

Delivery Day

'From the highest point of the highest building to the turning weathercock, every tip of every settlement draws back to the crest.'

'And as all places lead back to the capital, all things lead back to the Crests. All things lead back to the Triforce.'

"Eh, oi! Link! Get your keister down here, boy! Don't have time to fix this AND drag your hide away from the window!"

The young man stationed by the window wasted no time in rising from the bed and going to the ladder that connected the small loft above to the area below that composed most of the space in the building. The young man, Link, had, for all intents and purposes, bore several traits that made him appear right for his current profession, and yet not all at once. For one, he bore a form that wasn't exactly enormous, yet the muscles he had developed over the years of being the striker for the old man working down below. Reasonably sized deltoids and biceps needed to swing the hammer used for striking the red-hot iron as the old man, doing the majority of what he called the 'hard stuff', held it over the anvil with tongs and directed where to swing. Abdominal muscles were toned as well, yet like his arms, they were not overly developed. This pattern seemed to seep over every other inch of him: toned, yet only just enough so that he was just that and no more. And though his exposure to the heat of the forge was something that he needed to perhaps lessen his time with, his skin was akin to his body, a warm apricot, yet in time, it'd probably be as tan as the old man he lived with.

Link's attire was not all that fancy or extravagant either, both due to his line of work and the fact that even with the dependence his living area put on his guardian, that didn't mean that a surplus number of rupees came falling into their hands. To bear better with the almost always present heat, he kept his golden hair up in a small, high tail, there not much he could put up as it was, yet even allowing his hair to be its regular length below his jawline was near impossible, the ponytail aiding him by a small margin. A simple, grey, sleeveless tunic served as a top with a brown, sleeveless vest that ended midway lying over top, the leather worn and old. A belt about as old and worn as the vest was fastened around his waist, his black trousers not having a place to feed it through, and more leather straps were wrapped around his wrists His arms bore finger-less gloves so to speak, a somewhat turquoise green and ending at his elbows. But the most colorful thing of his entire outfit, his boots too following the darker, blander color scheme. A bit striking to his rather gold hair and deep blue irises.

As the soles of his worn boots met the even more worn flooring below, Link then made his way towards the one who had called him, sitting atop of a bench composed of wood that was also perhaps just as old as the planks composing of the surface under his feet. "Good." The old man huffed. "Was wondering whether or not I'd have to throw on of those there to get your attention." he chuckled, gesturing towards the various hard and sharpened tools that rested on the stock racks. "Course the sledgehammer's right over there. That'd get your attention for sure." Link's eyes immediately widened at his long ears catching that, the elderly man releasing a dry, husky chuckle at his reaction. "Knew that'd get you."

Old this man was, and simple he lived, yet the name he bore held more connotation than a good majority of his clients would ever know, at least Link assumed so. His name was so plain and simple after all, yet the old man's title just 'felt' as if, even from birth, the Goddess' formed him to be a crafter and bender of metal.

Osmivanna, a blacksmith to the neutral eye, yet to the few who truly knew him, THE blacksmith, for there was no contest.

With skin tan and dark, it was perhaps somewhat ironic that he didn't get out of the shop much. Indeed, the place was intentionally kept dark due to his profession needing such, the only source of light being from the small windows in the loft, Link the only one out of the two that bothered to uncover and open his. It was rather surprising that Osmivanna continued to work and do such heavy labor in his age of seventy-two, the only limbs that seemed to be in the same condition as they had been twenty or even thirty years ago being his muscled arms, everything else from his legs to his face seeming to shrink up and wrinkle. Grey fibers that protruded from the back of his head as the front was mostly bald were tied up in a short tail, some escaping the tie and creating a small, short, shaggy mane that extended to the base of his neck. Or rather, his upper back, his posture having grown more forward-leaning over the years.

As a blacksmith, Osmivanna dressed the part as well, though Link hadn't really known of seeing the elderly man in anything else. A simple, brown apron over a turquoise tunic that was even more worn down and aged than the apron, the sleeves torn from their original places and giving it a rugged, tattered look. Dark trousers like Link's own rested on his far thinner legs, brown, leather shoes and worn socks on his feet. A simple necklace rested around his neck, various small beads, and stones around the small strands of braided rope, Link not knowing the origin of it, nor of the dark tattoo that was on the old man's right shoulder. The marking was a symbol that was angled and resembling the shape of a diamond, yet at the top, instead of a single point, it split into three, two pointing in parallel directions whilst the middle pointed upward.

"Now, I suppose I don't need to go into too much detail as to why I called you down here, do I, boy?" Link shook his head, though mainly out of wishing to not perhaps rouse the elderly Hylian's frustration. He had indeed known why he had been summoned, let alone what today even meant. All of which, even if he didn't protest about it, he utterly dreaded. "Delivery day. And today's going to be a busy one."

Delivery day. Lovely.

Osmivanna's delivery of this fact, matter-of-fact and indifferent as it sounded, was not to indicate that he was completely oblivious or uncaring of the frown that came to his assistant's face. Oh, he more than took notice, as much as Link tried to insist that there was indeed nothing wrong, and this only made the act of sending the boy out worse for him. Despite his still strong arms, hardened and tight from years of developing and perfecting his craft, his legs and back, unfortunately, didn't exactly follow suit. In fact, he could've sworn that those portions of him had been compensated for him still retaining the same strength he had in the days before his sunset years. Simply put, Link in turn, as he too grew in both age in strength, grew to be more capable of the task than he. The boy knew this as well, though it didn't exactly make him like delivery day anymore.

"No need to get yourself in a rut about it though." The old man then said, feeling as if he needed to add something to perhaps levy Link's trepidation. "It's a few regulars. And just one of them is going to have you have to go through the center of town." He then lifted himself from the stool and with a set of uneasy, wobbly steps (his legs thin and lanky compared to his developed arms), he eventually made it over to the stock racks, taking a moment to wipe his worn, callused hands on the hem of his apron. "Now," Osmivanna began, pointing towards a rather large, handheld saw, said handle blue shining. "Mutoh's going to be your first stop. He won't be going anywhere until you hand that to him as he's not going to have anything to chop anything down with, so no lollygagging, you hear?" Link nodded, the elderly smith then gesturing to a smaller, yet equally sharp handheld sickle. "Course after that, you get to pay yourself a visit to Terran's place." At that, the blonde youth's eyes widened, any semblance of his former dejection completely evaporated by this little bit of news. He gazed at his mentor as if he didn't believe what he had just heard. "Yes, I mean it, boy! Wouldn't tell you otherwise if I didn't!" he then rubbed the back of his head, averting his eyes as the younger man's big, blue eyes were beginning to stir some sensations that caused a light flush or red to come to his cheeks. "N-Now don't get me wrong! You're still on the clock, so don't lollygag there either! Understand?" Link nodded, seemingly not even registering what the blacksmith had just said. All that mattered was that he was getting to go to Terran's! He was going to the ranch!

Even if he said nothing, the sudden and abrupt embrace he gave to Osmivanna said more than enough. And as much as this gesture caused the older man's cheeks to flush and his eyes to roll, he only pushed Link away once a good few moments of this had passed.

"Don't thank me yet, boy. You've got one more after that." To Link's surprise, however, instead of pointing to another tool stationed on the racks, the blacksmith reached into the pouch of his apron and pulled out a small, black mortar, the object resting in the center of his calloused, cracked palm. "Now this here could either be your first or your last because I don't know whether they've gone and set up shop already or are still at home," Osmivanna explained. "If they aren't, then make the delivery to the Mutoh and the ranch first. If they are, then drop it off at their place." He then paused, as if just remembering something. "Course, if their daughter's home, then you could just hand it to her, seeing as she's the one that asked for it." As if the action was purely instinctual, Link turned his head to the right, the shop's walls concealing it from view, yet just outside lay the residence of the last client. If it would indeed be his first delivery, maybe then he could better prepare for the trek he'd have to take further into town.

Of course, if not, then…

"Well, c'mon then," Osmivanna ordered. "Help me get these down and packed. Then you're off."

Exiting Osmivanna's shop, Link stopped for a moment to adjust the large brown bag hoisted onto his back with the completed works nestled inside. He would have to hurry of course, the old man's orders were not to be disobeyed, and patience was not a virtue he held outside of his craft. Still, despite this, Link couldn't help himself in taking a few moments to pause and observe the surrounding environment of which he and Osmivanna called home.

The blacksmith's, and in turn, Link's residence, wasn't exactly anything extravagant or fancy. A simple, two-story building of wood with a dark, gable roof of black tiles, though the 'two stories' wasn't exactly indicative of it being an expansive abode, most of the space was mainly used to comprise the necessities for his guardian's work, the beds and table and essentially everything else that wasn't part of the shop making up the small, upper level that was the loft. Nevertheless, it was still home, the only home that he had known, so perhaps he was looking at the old building through rose-colored glasses because it was near impossible to view it from any other angle. Or it could've also been the effect of the endless lectures of 'thankfulness' and 'gratitude' Osmivanna instilled in him since his youth. Odd, and somewhat ironic, as the old man himself had a penchant for grumbling and complaining.

Besides, in truth, it was better than the other few sparse, shoddy huts around here. It hadn't always been like that, however. Whilst this area hadn't exactly been extravagant or busy, it still had something with the few shops and residences there were. Yet when the southern part of town had begun to garner more attention, not to mention more opportunities, people began relocating, now mainly filling up the most eastern portion of town. Now, the only few that resided in this place were Link himself, the old man, and the small family located nearby, their place not much better looking than the abandoned shacks.

BREY!

The main discerning feature between them, however, was the fact that only one of them had something living nestled in a small, fenced-in area outside. Covered in a pelt of greyish fur and hooves lightly caked in dirt.

Link made his way towards the small abode, the aforementioned 'living thing' watching him with large, dark eyes, his elongated ears twitching slightly. The family's donkey, Panza. The small group of three that lived here had arrived in this place when Link was no more than five or six, he remembered their arrival well because Panza about ran him over when he tried to get close to the animal. Apparently, according to the father, a lanky, a rather ethnic-looking man by the name of Stockwell, Panza had misinterpreted Link's approach as an aggressive one, hence the initial hostility. Despite being a quadruped of an entirely different species, the donkey in many ways behaved very much like the family's guard dog. Not in the sense that he could be taught tricks or act cute at the prospect of food (something that disappointed Link at his young age), yet as demonstrated all those years ago, the working animal wouldn't hesitate to knock anyone's (be they man, woman, or in his case, child) teeth out if he felt they were intruding in on his owner's space.

The blonde Hylian nodded in acknowledgment to the animal, Goddesses knowing what would happen if he didn't. The working animal released a huff of air from his nostrils and shook his own head, a sign that the boy was allowed to approach the home of his owners.

Please let their daughter be home, Link silently begged. Let her be home, let her be home…

He knocked on the door of rotting wood, feeling it give way somewhat under his fist. Link stopped out of fear that the door itself would come crashing down, yet after a few moments of silence, he knocked again, albeit far softer. Still, no response. He didn't try again, Panza's old, yet knowing eyes said it all.

His first stop WOULD have to be in town.

And at just the beginning of the rush hour.

It was just a short trip, which was all. Just a short, quick trip from the shop to the town square, and then the carpenter's shop. That was the general mantra that Link kept reciting to himself in his mind, mentally repeating that statement repeatedly, word by word, syllable by syllable. True, it wasn't the best method, as it seemed to do little to block out everything around him, yet lest he gets an earful from the old man, he wasn't going anywhere until he got his part of the job done.

No matter what sort of reputation this town had, Link never thought that it warranted all of this. Even if it was 'Harkinian Town, the hotbed and most popular trading town in all the land.'.

Ringing bells and shouting voices echoed and reverberated throughout the entirety of the town square, stands upon stands and tents with a nearly limitless array of items and goods out on display had garnered the attention of all there, whether they were locals of the living area or not. This itself was far from common. In fact, as Link observed whenever he was forced to make his way through here, more outsiders and people he had never laid eyes on before frequented the marketplace than the local denizens. Good for business, he supposed, yet if that was the case, then he'd be far better off with simply taking requests or handling said business from afar. Let someone else handle the rowdy, frantic shoppers with their throwing handfuls of rupees for some strange, supposedly exotic object as if their very life depended on it. He couldn't understand it, what was so special about a red rock that was supposedly plucked away from the very heights of Death Mountain? Besides, according to Osmivanna, most of those stones were just taken from the bottom of the nearby river, and extra material to make it sparkle was added to it.

Those tactics, however, ultimately lead to this place becoming what it was today. Harkinian Town at first didn't even have a name, at least from what Link was aware. From the tales told to him by the elderly blacksmith he resided with, this town began as a simple village nestled by the edge of Lake Hylia, the main body of water and a natural landmark of Hyrule. And given its proximity to the body of water, it was a humble lake town, its main export being freshly caught fish and other related items exclusive to the area. And as other villages and settlements around the small country began to develop, the town had brought with it a decent amount of extra business.

Yet it wasn't the booming port town Link knew today, at least not until a few years ago. From what Osmivanna had told him, as the early residents of the kingdom began to expand and develop, there was the discussion of a capital city needing to be established. That capital, at least at first, was a place very similar to the present day Harkinian Town, just set up around the landmark castle itself and being named the simpler yet still appropriate title, Hyrule Town. Then, while the details weren't exactly known to him, according to the old man, there was some sort of incident that occurred that must've been large enough to result in most Hyrule Town's inhabitants to scamper away and settle in the villages that were scattered throughout the land now, what was once Harkinian Town being one of them.

Business continued as usual, yet it was only recently that something was discovered in the lake. Something of which leads to the expansion of the town, as well as its reputation for this one-of-a-kind, area exclusive product spreading far and wide, all the way to the capital itself. And the attention of one noble. Whom, Link couldn't recall, yet so impressed were they by this rare find, that he in turn, along with the town's Mayor Kravindish, officially renamed the town after the late, dearly departed King. And with this new attention, other smaller, less profitable villages caught on that such a place as this would be good to set up and begin selling their own goods. Word spread more and more, and now, the very center of the town had become a hot spot for business, stands with various items, and peoples from villages near and far (assuming they could afford the travel) had come to perhaps strike a better deal than if they had been in their own town or village.

Still, with that, Link would've preferred if things had stayed the way they were before.

"FRESH VEGETABLES!"

It was certainly less noisy.

"FRESH FRUIT! GROWN STRAIGHT FROM THE MOST FERTILE SOIL!"

Not to mention it made the delivery day much more bearable. All the same, he couldn't leave until he made his stop. And perhaps find Stockwell out here, should he be so fortunate.

"Come and buy!"

One foot in front of the other, then repeat. Yes, he was doing it.

"An apple a day, you know! Come try them out!"

Lowering his head might've been a good option, give more of an indication he wasn't interested. Besides, it wasn't as if he looked like someone who had extra cash to simply throw around.

"Hey, how are you doing?"

By the great Goddesses themselves, he could only hope. He was nearby, just a few feet more. Nestled in the most upper portion of the plaza and at the right was Mutoh's shop. Just a few more feet to go, then he'd be set to get out of here!

"Hey, young man!"

No, don't answer. It was rude, yes, but he couldn't afford to stop, he had a job to do. It was an excuse to avoid having to stop and talk, yes, but if that was what he had to use, so be it.

"Yo, where are you off to in such a hurry?!"

"Hey, I'm talking to you!"

"Oh, never mind! Weirdo."

Almost there, so close! He didn't want to stop and talk. He couldn't stop and talk. Well, technically, he couldn't really do only one of those…

"Fresh Zora eggs!"

His destination was just a few feet away, literally, he could see Mutoh's shop right in front of him, a sign swinging up on the small hanger to the left of the door frame as if it were beckoning him to simply slip inside.

At the second stand to the east, the stand, in particular, bearing a white and sky-blue covering stood a rather ornately dressed, young woman. She wore a cloak of pure white that heavily contrasted with the deep red of her robes underneath, concealing some of the more fine details embroidered on the clothing. Link couldn't remember having ever seen this woman. And her attire didn't seem to match a good majority of the other patrons. Was it possible she was from the capital?

And whilst he couldn't see exactly what she was being handed at first, Link could suspect that there was something of value in the bottle she was handed, filled with water and some sort of round object with a pale blue coloring. "Ah, lovely!" the woman exclaimed, examining the small, round object, even giving the bottle a little shake. "Is it true what they say, good sir? That these here can truly make you look young and live longer?"

The stand's owner let out a small chuckle. "My lady," he assured. "Rumors such as these came from when I was just a lad! And so far, there's not been one word of it being proven wrong! And remember, only in Harkinian Town!"

"Excellent!" the woman proclaimed. "Lady Alma will be most pleased!"

He was beginning to regret not taking the opportunity to simply go inside. Link wasn't entirely sure of what to even think, aside from the fact that apparently, not just eggs, but Zora eggs... the potential possibilities and images attached to them were immediately forced from his wandering mind. They...they probably weren't even actual Zora eggs anyway. Just simply painting them up to look like them (he assumed, having never seen one before). Just like the supposed precious metals here, a phony.

Yeah, that was it. That was all it was.

Pushing the subject away for what seemed to be the umpteenth time, Link was about to knock on the door, yet found that as he grabbed the handle, it seemed to be unlocked as it easily came to him as he pulled. Waiting a few moments, there seemed to be no protest coming from inside to his entry, and the noise was reaching its peak, so the young man swiftly made his way inside, large, bulging sack and all.

It was a quickly made judgment, perhaps even premature, yet Link was already convinced that even far smaller spaced, the confined shop was indeed a vastly superior alternative to the more open-spaced madness outside. Confined, mainly due to the bevy of tools hanging from the rafters above him just a few feet, some able to reach the top of his blonde head had the young man passed underneath them. The interior of the shop was nothing unexpected, especially given what is served and the owner of said shop. Just about everything was crafted from wood: from the obvious pieces such as the workbench and out-feed table to the less obvious such as the racks holding the tools too heavy to simply hang up to even the lumber storage. Even Osmivanna's storage racks were just that, racks, Link thought. Nevertheless, from the looks of it, he was granted with a lot of open space compared to usual as nothing was laid out atop of the feed table, taking the opportunity and setting the large sack atop of it to grant his back a bit of rest.

Of course, looking around more around the unusually quiet and even more unusually empty shop, Link was beginning to believe that, to his dismay, by some inexplicable stroke of horrible timing and luck, he had arrived either too early or even worse, too late. It was then that Link noticed a small light coming from behind a tattered drape in the back to the right, the only other source of light being from the rays seeping through the glass. And judging from the growing mumbling and complaining his ears were noticing, he was more than relieved that his journey here through that horrid market had been for nothing.

"Oh, well FINALLY!" a gruff, slightly hoarse voice shouted, loud steps echoing through the entire shop indicating that the owner was coming closer and closer until a large hand slipped out from the slight opening behind the drape at the right end of the room and pushed it out of the way. "About time ONE of you showed up! Where in Nayru's divine name have you..." of course, instead of one of his muscled, able fellow carpenters, the older man found himself gazing at the smaller, far younger, and blonde young man that was probably more than a little nervous from his outburst. 'Oh great.' he couldn't help but think. 'Gone and scared the poor kid out of his wits most likely.' the only emotion that was able to come from him was nothing short of an absolute embarrassment. "Eh...heh. Hey there, Link."

With a small wave of his hand, Link found he couldn't stop himself from letting a sigh of relief exit his throat. The man before Link was one that, whilst the apprentice blacksmith knew well since his early youth, he was mainly known as someone that unless one had a history with, he wasn't exactly the most ascetically pleasing to look at, let alone approach. This wasn't to say that he was unsightly in appearance, yet his telltale gruffness and expression of harshness and a deeply furrowed brow seemed to put out the image that he wasn't exactly the friendliest of people, of which wasn't the truth at all. At least to those who managed to be brave enough and approach him or held a long history.

Mutoh the Carpenter, the best in all Hyrule as he claimed, was in no way a bad guy. He just was more known for some of his less desirable qualities, more likely than not due to his impulsiveness that, even in his age, seemed to be as quick and acted on as it was forty years ago. At least, Link assumed so, according to Osmivanna's claims, the old blacksmith having known the carpenter far longer than he had even been alive. Even now, in his far more advanced age of sixty, the old man claimed that the only way he'd stop working was when he was put in the ground, and from the looks of his form, Link thought that this was a claim that he very well could follow to the letter. Age had begun to show itself, his hair gone from his head and the only remains of it being his burly, thick brows and mustache, both of which were a snowy white. And while he had gained a bit of a gut over the years, Mutoh's arms were still muscled and large, as well as his almost always puffed-out barrel chest. It was common, if not outright expected, to see him with no shirt on, displaying his built pectorals, yet his upper half was partially covered by a deep blue vest with golden trimmings on the hem guard and armholes. His lower half was another story, completely covered with golden trousers that bore black, striking stripes all over, and where the garments ended, bandages began, being wrapped around Mutoh's calves to his ankles, of were simple, brown shoes rested with worn-out socks hidden inside on his feet.

"So, uh..." Mutoh began again, giving the back of his bald head a rub, cursing the flush his cheeks were getting at having mistaken Link for one of his own. "Guess you're here to deliver some of your old man's work, huh?" No audible answer came from the young man, the question being answered by a nod of the head, yet such an answer was of no surprise to the carpenter, his connection to Osmivanna long and ongoing, and so in turn, the same applied to Link. 'Better than trying to make the poor kid get something out of his mouth.' Reaching into the sack that was set down on the feed table (accidentally managing to prick himself on the item), the blonde managed to pull out the desired object, Mutoh in turn taking it and examining it. "Ah...good as new!" the old man heatedly proclaimed. "Not that I'd doubt your old man! One of the select few that you can actually trust with getting a job done and done right!" it was somewhat hilarious in hindsight. Mutoh would shout his mouth off and go off on anyone he deemed needing a 'good talking to', yet Link couldn't think of one time where he bad-mouthed his guardian, at least not openly. Privately was something unknown entirely, and something that gave the young man slight shudders on whether it'd be better or even worse.

"Mr. Mutoh, sir!" of course, now, to his shock and dismay, Link found that perhaps he was going to witness one of those tirades firsthand. The door swung open from the collective amount of weight behind it, yet given that it wasn't locked, it failed to support the four, burly men that came tumbling in. The first of the four that came to the door before the other three came barreling into him in a rush to get to the shop on time looked up and was somewhat thankful that he hadn't come to see his boss staring down at him. "Oh, hey there, Link." he said, he and the rest of his fellow workers steadily getting themselves up off the floor and at a standing position. While they all knew they were in hot water, perhaps with the young man here, their boss wouldn't be as willing to be so hard on them.

The four subjects of Link's guilty amusement and Mutoh's frustration were none other than his very own workers, his fellow carpenters. Though it only took one glance from each one of them and to their superior to immediately notice the major differences. It also only took a few moments alone with them to also notice the differences that lay beneath the physical appearances as well, despite that even Link at first once believed that maybe all four of them were somehow related. Compared to their employer, however, they were the complete antithesis of the older man. Mutoh put on the show and talk of, to put it bluntly (the type of manner the man in question was more than favorable of), a 'manly man'. 'Show no weakness, show no tears, show no feeling' was his creed and how he conducted himself. This wasn't to indicate he was an unfeeling or uncaring individual, being a father to two himself, yet it seemed to be a taboo of sorts that with what he presented to everyone else but a select few not be broken in any way. Link himself didn't entirely understand it, yet then again, Osmivanna did the exact same, and he had yet to understand why he too held such a code. Something that just had to do with getting old, he simply assumed.

Bremor, Brent, Doyle, and Mack, however, were nothing like that. Link had known them for less time than he had known Mutoh and Osmivanna, yet nevertheless, the four men took an immediate liking for the young man. It was also noted that, unlike Mutoh, they were far ampler to discuss and go into personal matters, openly conversing with one another about their lives, families, etc., and even ampler to complain of working conditions being too hard or demanding. Not to mention that they all were far more open and expressive, as well as honest with their emotions than their boss could probably be, at least in the open. Though their attire matched Mutoh's as if to compensate, they all garbed in what seemed to be something of a 'uniform' for the trade, or at least Mutoh's shop there is a prevalent theme of vests and similarly styled trousers and bandages. Of course, unlike Mutoh, the vests of the four men were sleeveless and the trousers bore no patterns, instead of displaying a small palette of colors. Bremor, the first of the four, bore a hairstyle that made it appear as if two spikes were sticking out of the top of his head, his trousers a vibrant green. Brent had what was known as a devilock, yet contrary to the style's name, his trousers were a pure, clean white. Doyle bore a far simpler flattop, yet he was the showiest, his trousers a bright shade of magenta or even hot pink. And finally, there was Mack, who held the title of most eccentric hair, having allowed his already fluffy hair to grow into a large, boisterous afro, bearing a lighter shade of, yet still blue, pair of trousers.

"See here?" Mutoh suddenly spoke up, all of them seizing up with fear, and to a degree, Link couldn't help but pity them. Yet suddenly, he found a large, meaty hand roughly patting his bare shoulder, his own vest and grey top doing little to ease the blows that were meant to be gentle pats. "You four could learn a thing or two from this boy here!" Each pat sent a wave of pressure and pain traveling up his shoulder, yet still, Link grinned and bore it, he had to, lest he potentially offend. "Hasn't gotten into getting his working hands yet, but at least he knows how to be punctual!" thankfully, after a few more hits, the last nearly knocking Link forward, Mutoh's friendly gesture ceased. "Anyway, thanks for the delivery." the old man thanked, stepping out of the way to allow the young man to once again hoist the sack onto his back. He then looked to his crew of four. "Well?! What are you waiting for?! Boy's busy here making deliveries! Give him some room!" a few moments of scrambling later, eventually, Bremor and Brent parted to the right whilst Doyle and Mack to the left, creating an open space for Link to exit. "Alright, you four!" Mutoh ordered, going to the small space behind the drape and coming back with a large sack thrown over his shoulder. "It's off to the ranch for us! A horse and a wagon, and we'll be on our way!"

Oh yeah...that was today...wasn't it?

It didn't take long for it to dawn on Mutoh that something was wrong. His large, thick brows drooped. "You all forgot...didn't you?"

"Oh no, sir! Not about that!" Mack assured. "I had the boys mark it on all of their calendars!

"So why aren't your supplies with you?" the older carpenter inquired, gesturing to the white sack he possessed. "You're supposed to bring your assigned rations of food and cooking utensils."

"Yeah, well, about that, boss..." Doyle began, twiddling his fingers. "We were kinda under the impression that we'd meet up here, THEN we'd go and pack up."

"So that we wouldn't be in a rush and maybe cause a mess! I mean..." it was shameful to admit, Bremor acknowledged, yet still, he had to. "We DID sort of barge in here and had the sacks been with us and filled...nothing but squashed vegetables would be what be served."

Whether the boss's silence should've been a sign that they were okay or not, neither of them knew, yet still, oddly enough, while the anger was more than present on his features, it was something that he could see a point in. While it was far from what the plan was, at least now, there was assurance there wouldn't be any wasted food...assuming they wouldn't find some other way to mess up. "Fine." Mutoh sighed. "Go to your places and fill up. But!" he added before they eagerly left. "Five minutes, then we're out to the ranch!"

'Gotten into getting his working hands yet...' Link reflected, looking down at his own palms. It was due to him being sucked into this train of thought and analysis of his own, physical hands that allowed him to somewhat block out the still ongoing, bustling noise outside the shop and move to the north, the familiar, repetitive echoes of deals and bells growing more and more distant as he exited that portion of Harkinian Town. He hadn't seen any sign of Stockwell out in all that madness, and frankly, he wasn't willing to go back through that madness again.

He could only hope now that he, or at least someone would be at their home by the time he got back to town.

It was the truth, to a degree, over the years from Osmivanna's training and getting his body conditioned enough to handle swinging the large hammer for striking, they still bore a considerable amount of smoothness. There were a few places where calluses had developed, particularly on where his proximal digital crease rested as well as the middle crease along with his fingers, yet aside from those areas, the young man's hands still retained their natural 'plushness'.

"Oh! He-achoo! Hello, Link!"

Link in turn had directed his attention to the right, the one who had spoken to him pleased she had gotten his acknowledgment. Though it was then she seemed to realize that she had a rather plump, white bird in her possession.

"Oh, of course! I'm sorry!" the red-haired woman that displayed quite a case of sniffles thanks to the ivory feathered bird she held in her arms, letting loose another sneeze in the crook of one of them (yet also bringing her fact and in turn contact with the bird closer ranged). "Grog, watch these dears for me, would you?"

The 'Grog' in question being the almost sickeningly thin man sitting on the ground atop of a small box, hands limply hanging over his kneecaps and head always down. Though upon the woman asking this request, he crooked his neck to face her, then to the birds in the pen. With a small, nearly unnoticeable nod, the red-haired woman abandoned her post and began to make her way over to Link.

She was a middle-aged woman that, despite her more striking hair color, her eyes were wide and childlike, as if she still possessed some sort of juvenile tendencies and curiosities. Her skin, in contrast to her hair and eyes, was a rather subdued peach, as well as her frame slender, though now, noticeable bumps of gooseflesh were rising. The reaction she got almost every time she handled the cuckoos. A white undershirt with puffy, short sleeves with pink ribbons tied above the frilly ends where the armholes began, it is overlaid by a brown berdice that came down to above her hips. A navy kirtle split down the middle and allowing the skirt to be seen overlie a long, white skirt that ended at just above her ankles. On said kirtle were flame-like patterns of a pale blue, a single, stylized line going around underneath it. On her feet were a pair of simple, brown shoes of leather, fitting on like a pair of slippers with a middle piece in the middle of the topline, coming to a strap that fed through a small opening underneath and linked to the other side, keeping the said shoe on.

The keeper and as luck would have it, only individual allergic to the cuckoos she cared for, Anju, the carpenter's daughter.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting you..." the woman said, obviously somewhat out of breath. "But you HAVE seen my dad yes, right?" Link nodded in reply, she, in turn, releasing a long, relieved sigh. "Oh, that's good. He's still here then..." she paused. "Though he'd be coming through here with his guys and I'd see him then...stupid Anju." she berated herself aloud, then realizing she had just done so in front of an observing party. "Ah, sorry. Don't mind me." even with her little blunder being brushed off, she had come to the young man for a reason. "Of course, not that you'd probably know, I'm just wondering...does he still plan to go out there?"

Plan to go out? Go out where? Link was more than a little confused, echoing this with a slight tilt of his head and a raised brow. Sure, Mutoh was usually a busy man, yet he had no knowledge of him going anywhere. Though this silence, while expected from the young man, was interpreted as a confirmation by the older woman.

"I...I should've known." she sighed as if having been defeated before she could even begin to put up any sort of struggle, let alone protest. "I mean, yes. It's his job…and there's been a shortage of lumber coming in, but still...why can't the Mayor just postpone construction on that bridge?" she then realized she was speaking aloud again. "Oh, I'm sorry! I don't mean to keep you! Your old man is probably is going to give you an earful if you're tardy. Course, I don't know if you're even set to be back at a certain time...anyway, thank you!"

She then flounced off, back to the pen behind her home, Grog having not moved a single muscle (assuming his hadn't wasted away from how thin he was) since she had left. The yellow trousers like what his father had worn were only held onto his lower half by a tightly fastened belt, his shoes also barely able to keep from slipping off his ankles. And unlike Anju's hair, his was a dulled, dirtied brown, at least what little of it he had. Aside from the spikes that lined his head in mohawk, the almost impossibly skinny man would almost be considered as bald as his own father. As Link began his journey once again, Grog turned his head towards the young man, dark, sunken eyes watching him go by, his piercing gaze was not exactly the easiest thing to take. In fact, it didn't take long for it to become too much, resulting in Link suddenly going into a sprint (or as much of one he could manage considering what he was carrying) until Mutoh's home and most importantly, the cuckoo pen, were behind him.

'Shame on you, boy.' the young man heard Osmivanna's lecturing voice sound in his head, he has expressed his less than favorable opinion on Grog when he was but a child. 'Yeah, he's not the most pleasant to look at, and probably even less pleasant to talk with. The only thing he likes is those annoying birds. But he means no harm and he's not the least bit interested in hurting you none. So, the least you could do is acknowledge him when we're passing by.'

Well…yeah, he should do that. Still, it didn't change the fact that the man was incredibly creepy.

As he continued along, Link remembered well when he was dragged along on Osmivanna's deliveries, before his back had begun to give him trouble, almost always coming through here to either go to Mutoh's place if he wasn't at the shop or outside of the town's borders. Whilst not as large and especially not as crowded as the plaza currently was (of which, Link saw as benefits more than anything), the northern portion of Harkinian Town bore far more of a domestic, civilized air to it than the outskirts of where he lived, having lost much of its original forestry in place of homes and a couple of small, local business that couldn't find a place in the plaza itself to rent out and set up shop. The only trees that remained were either potted shrubbery and were never allowed to grow past a certain, manageable size, and open windows kept any flowers around potted and usually stationed. The path below him was even laid out in white, brick tiles that began at the plaza and went on past the gate overhead, until just a few feet after, the tiles that had been so neatly placed and organized came to a halt, the bare dirt beneath allowed to show its face again.

The sole of his leather shoe crunching some grass that had been part of its own, small patch separated from the rest of the large, expansive field before him. Though he would only travel through a tiny, minuscule portion of it, that being laid out for him as his destination was more than visible from where he was standing, Link always adored simple just coming out here and being able to simply wander. Wander and explore in these vast, free, tranquil plains of fertile, green grass.

Hyrule Field.