Sorry about the cliched story. Sorry about the unimagining writing too. But I suppose it helps occasionally to have a nice, big cliche in there somwhere.

When I woke, my face was pressed down into perfumed cusions, which was a pleasant change to the back of my head which felt as though it had been smashed in with a sledgehammer.

As it turned out, it was actually a warhammer.

Risking raising my head a little, Ifound I was laid out on a pile of cusions in a tent. The walls were quite thin, apparently fur, and the light shone through. Furs lined the floor. Furs hung from the ceiling. So did a lot of dead rabbits. Their glassy, dead eyes watched me as they swung gently.

It looked as though it was the tent of a great hunter.

Behind me, I heard the sound of furs being pulled back and light spilled in. I put my head down fast and pretended to be asleep.

The fur slid back into place. A woman stepped into my field of vision. I watched, through slitted eyes, as she took up a book that lay on the floor, sat on the furs before me, and began to read. She wore thin silks, that flowed about her like water. Her long, flame-redhair was pulled back from her face and held there by leather ties.

Her face was very beautiful. Very proud. I was in no doubt who had caught and killed all these things about me. And I was in no doubt what species she belonged to.

It was incredible how a woman like that could remain standing, never mind fight.

I kept quiet.

A few minutes passed. She began to grow restless. She tossed her book away, retrieved her knife, and began to skin one of the ceiling hung rabbits. The blade slid into the fur, seperating skin from flesh in long, easy lines. It looked as easy as peeling potatos with her.

And she smiled whilst she did it. As if she enjoyed it.

Once it was peeled, she hung it up again and then sat back on her haunches. Quickly I shut my eyes as her gaze fell onto me.

"You're awake," she said, in the sort of voice a mother would use for a naughty child. "Why did you pretend to be asleep?"

I looked up and met her gaze. She didn't look angry, simply curious.

"I dont know," I admitted.

"What is your name?"

"My name is Teran."

"My name is Nabooru. You look very much like your father."

She knew my father? That meant if she'd been a supporter of Ganonorf, I wasscrewed. My gaze fell on the knife still held in her hand.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt you."

"Oh...thanks. Nabooru...." I ran the name over my mind. "He's never mentioned you."

Nabooru smiled slowly. "No. I dont suppose he would," she said, her eyes glinting. "I do hope Queen Zelda is well." The tone of her voice said quite flatly that she hoped Zelda was dead. I made a note to ask my father about Nabooru the second I got home.

"Would you like some food, boy? Drink?"

For the first time, I realised how hungry I was. Being quite full when I was knocked out, I wondered how long I had been asleep.

"Yes. Yes, please."

She rose and went to the door of the tent, pulling back the flap and looking back at me where I still sat. "Well? I'm not your waiter you know."

Muttering apologies, I scrambled quickly to my feet and followed her.

It was just coming morning, a pink glow sweeping over the Eastern horizon. Frost clung to the grass and the tents. My breath steamed in the air.

There were about two dozen tents in all, all squat fur ones crowded about the central campfire. Gerudos, their faces tired and surly, their hair tustled, moved about doing important morning camp things like brewing lots of coffee. There was a general air of hangoverness.

"We had a party last night," Nabooru explained. "Try not to make any loud noises."

She sight of Gerudos with such foul features, sickly-green palors, and bloodshot-red eyes stired something deeply hereditary in me. It put me on edge

Nabooru moved across the camp to a pile a kegs. She moved along them, twisting the stoppers on each one but, when nothing came out, she said,"no wine. Must've gotten drunk last night. You'll have to settle for water."

My attention right then was a devided by a young woman who, still in herfur pyjamas, had sidled up to the kegs. She twisted the stopper. Then she twisted it again so hard it came off in her hand. Finally she drove her fist through the wood and walked away, looking disgusted and licking her fist. A tiny trickle of red wine ran down onto the grass.

It was amazing how these people could walk around in clothes that could have been made by skinning a single Gerbil and not freeze solid in seconds. It was also very cool.

I was lead over to the campfire and sat on one of the logs that had been placed about it. Someone had driven huge stakes into the earth at an angle so that whole cows could be impailed on them and hung over the flames. I watched my breakfast roast, drip and blacken before me. Nabooru sat nearby, talking to some others, but I felt her gaze on me always. I knew if I so much as twitched she'd be on me like a shot. We were all prisoners here, even if we never wanted to leave.

And she'd be expecting me to run, wouldn't she. Like father had done.