Shadowlink50: Thank you so much for your support so far, as you can see, there has not been much. The encouragement really helps.

"I can't understand you, Michael," Nabooru teased. "You are unlike any other man I have met."

"Oh? And how am I so different?" inquired a curious Michael. He sat up on the edge of a queen sized bed made delicately with velvet sheets. The spirit sage lay diagonally across the bed.

"You ask questions. You direct our conversations so that they are only about me. You show concern not for what I have done, but for my emotions as well. Most people I know, especially men, tend to talk about themselves, and only listen to satisfy me. You seem to listen because you really want to capture my experiences for yourself, and you want to feel everything that my senses captured."

"Perhaps I'm just curious."

"I think you do not wish to talk about yourself. I think you are afraid of yourself, and that you are comforted by escaping into other people."

Michael laughed. He turned his head to face away from the gorgeous woman. "That's deep. For someone who doesn't understand me, you seem to have developed a pretty intricate theory."

"Why don't you look at me when you speak?"

Michael turned his head back around to face her with no hesitation. He grinned. "I like playing games. It's been a very long time since I have met anyone who had enough interest in me to try and figure me out. I like the attention you're giving me, but I can assure you that in the end, it is completely hopeless."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"I'm really a simple creature. I am a thief and a liar. That right there pretty much encompasses me; however, I know that telling you that will do nothing to discourage your fascination with me. There is nothing actually worth your effort that you can find."

Nabooru slowly reached over toward Michael. She put her hand on his shoulder. "This may be a challenge worth taking."

"You must not be a good listener. You will lose this game."

Nabooru's hand began massaging his shoulder. "Look around this room. Look at all the candles. Smell all the fragrances. Let your eyes indulge in the dim lighting undermining the beautiful statues on the stands and the murals on the wall. How would you describe your surroundings?"

"In one word: sensual. You designed this room around awakening as many senses as possible, and wetting but not fulfilling your desires. I know you were lying when you said that this was your chamber, as sleeping here regularly would defeat the whole purpose of this room. You rightfully avoided using bright colors. The tables and wooden statues have a very archaic yet exotic presence. You were also smart to limit the putrid colors, like browns and oranges to the ancient displays and leave the walls and the bed sheets to be dark but vibrant colors, like velvety blues and purples. The rug is perfect as a source of deep red. You were very careful with this room, and you held a very specific purpose for it."

"And that is?"

"You know I know what it is, and having me say it would spoil our little game now, wouldn't it? My only question is how often is this room actually used? I would venture a guess that it is not often. How am I doing?"

"Pretty well, but you're missing one thing. I'm practically devouring your shoulder with my hand. You devoted so much of your attention to observing your surroundings that you were deaf to my beckoning." Nabooru's hand left Michael's shoulder to begin exploring his chest. "The candles make it awfully warm in here, don't they? And yet you still have both your undershirt and your thin jacket on."

"What makes you think that I was deaf to your mute beckoning? Perhaps I am resisting." Michael stared at her, smiling. He then took off his black button down shirt, leaving on his white sleeveless shirt underneath. Candle light dimly illuminated a tattoo of a wilted rose on his right bicep. Nabooru's hand returned back to his shoulder to investigate this curious image, but Michael quickly stood up. He shook his head. "Only when I'm ready."

"What does that image mean?"

"It doesn't matter," assured Michael. "It's wilted. It's broken. If I feel it again…"

"Silence," Nabooru commanded. She let her golden fiery hair down and stripped completely. "Do you not want me right now?"

Michael responded by removing his jeans and his undershirt. Nabooru squinted in the dim candlelight to make out the bizarre markings of various shapes, lengths, and angular orientations all over his skinny rib bearing stomach. "Some questions don't need to be asked," Michael preached.

Nabooru held back her gasp at the sigh of his stomach. "You're much thinner than I thought," she said. Michael nodded. "Are those scars?"

"Yep," Michael gave a quick nod. "Scars of battle."

"I would say that you lost."

Michael gave a subdued laugh. "Ha, you should see the other guy before deciding that."

"It would be hard to bear the scars of battle for someone who is not a soldier. You would never get into a fight with someone else. You're not a fighter."

"Oh really?" Michael asked as he joined her on the bed. "Then what am I? And what are these scars?"

Nabooru put her arms around his stomach, using her thumbs to caress his pronounced ribs. She slowly made her way down to the scars, where she gently surveyed them with her fingers. "You are the result of those scars, and you were responsible for those scars."

"That's circular," Michael accused, "and I am responsible for these scars."

"Human nature is circular. People make mistakes, suffer the consequences, and move on. You've paid a large price for yours, and that explains your wisdom."

"Wisdom? There's a funny one." Michael began breathing more heavily as Nabooru's hands ascended his body in pursuit of the wilted rose, but he did not resist.

"What happened?" Nabooru asked as her hand plundered the faded image.

Michael brought his head closer to her chest. "You shouldn't ask. Knowing can only hurt you."

Nabooru brought her lips to Michael's. "I'm not afraid."

The setting sun's salmon rays reached Michael's face after being heavily filtered by partially closed blinds. Groaning, he stirred slowly and reached over to touch his lover. She was no longer in the bed. Noticing this, the black haired man quickly got up and looked around the room. There she was. Standing right over the bed. Right after recognizing her, Michael shifting his gaze away. "Wow," he muttered.

"You seem disappointed," Nabooru declared with a heavy voice.

"I'm not. That was amazing. This was easily one of the best afternoons I have ever had."

"Then why are you so down?"

"Am I?"

"Let us put the games aside for now. What happened…what we just did…was mesmerizing. I can't remember anytime a Hylian made me feel that." Nabooru said. "And please, face me when you talk to me."

Michael turned to her. "It's been almost ten years since I have had anyone, and you were great. I was craving it beforehand, and every minute of it overloaded my senses. I would change nothing about it, but now, I have to deal with the aftermath."

"Aftermath? What are you talking about?"

"God damnit, I am really not good at having this conversation."

"But you'll do your best," Nabooru assured.

Michael flashed an ephemeral nervous smile. "Nabooru, I like you. You challenge me in ways that few people do. I am infatuated by you and your lifestyle. I sense a good connection between us, and I would like for us to continue a solid friendship, but we have to establish limits."

"Limits?"

"Look, we can like each other. We can be crazy about each other. We can crave each other, but do not under any circumstances let yourself fall for me. I mean it."

"What are you talking about?"

"If you fall for me; if you allow yourself to become dependent on me for your own happiness, I will only hurt you. Not because I want to, but because that is all I am capable of."

"So you want to continue sharing intimacies, and you want to continue a serious relationship, but you forbid commitment? Is that why you won't tell me about yourself?"

"No. I'm all for commitment. I'm offering that to you now, I'm just warning you that this will never last in the long term so you better be careful not to let this get blown out of proportion. We can not lie to ourselves about what is between us. The last thing I want to do, Nabooru, is hurt you. I don't want to repeat my past experiences." Nabooru opened her mouth, but her words were consumed by the saliva in the back of her throat. "Just trust me," Michael assured. "And as far as my past is concerned, I will open a bit in time. You just need to allow me that time."

"I wish I understood," Nabooru finally managed to choke out, "but I can't. I don't understand your concerns."

"Maybe you will eventually," Michael replied with a congenial smile as he got up to gather his clothes. Before putting them back on, he pulled Nabooru toward him and began kissing her. It lasted for well over three minutes.

As soon as Link left the house, Joanne quickly got up and scrambled to the bookshelves in the main room, right outside of Michael's old bed room. The entire length of the room was covered by two shelves of books, each full of both hard bound and paperback. Joanne fingered through each volume until she reached a hardbound book covered in an orange paper jacket. "Yes," Joanne whispered. "I've found it, you son of a bitch," she murmured under her breath. "There is no way Link that either Link or Malon…on any Hylian for that matter would be able to find this." Joanne pulled it from the shelf and was began to open the cover when an intangible force grabbed her wrist, forcing her to shut the book. "I can't do this. I can't do this alone." She returned the book to its shelf, quickly stumbled to her feet, and ran out of the house.

Malon jumped at the violent knocking on the door to stables. It was almost noon, and she wondered who would visit her in the morning. She quickly brushed herself off, ran a hand back through her red hair, and paced over to the door. "Who's there?" she asked graciously.

"It's Joanne," declared the tense voice on the other side of the door."

"Are you alright? You sound like you're out of breath--"

"Just open the door," Joanne hastily instructed.

Malon proceeded to open the door and found a very disheveled Joanne on the other side. She was still in the formal black dress she wore the previous evening, but her make up was smeared by sweat pouring down her face. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her perfect blonde hair lacked its luster and was tangled. A few twisted locks stood up. "Joanne!"

"I'm fine," Joanne insisted. "You need to come with me back to Michael's house right now."

"Joanne, I'm feeding the horses. Maybe I'll come by—"

"That's not good enough. You need to come with me now."

"Joanne, you don't look well at all, and you're talking really fast. Please—"

"I didn't sleep last night. I stayed up the whole night getting a confession out of Link, and I'm out of breath because I just ran nonstop from Lake Hylia to here! I'm pretty sure that I just ruined this evening gown too, but this is important."

"That's crazy, Joanne. Get some rest. You can even go upstairs and—"

"Malon. I may be exhausted, but I'm not crazy. Come with me now. I solved Michael's riddle about where he hid the book. You were so good to him, and you have every right to know. I need you to be there by my side. Now that I have found a trace of what I came here looking for, I can not rest until I have it. Please come with me now."

Malon hesitated, then sighed. "Alright, but we're taking a horse."

"Sounds good," Joanne approved.