Up up up up up through viscous layers of sleep, webs of exhaustion holding his body down, drowning him in restless rest, unable to think-can't-move-can't-breathe! He couldn't scream, couldn't hear himself, couldn't open his eyes
Those eyes! Looking staring deep stabbing malevolence MUST GET OUT NOW NOW NOW
"Hey! Don't you go back to sleep now!" scolded a voice. Through dream clogged ears and sleep crusted eyes, Link thrashed about, trying to gain some foothold on reality and latched on to the voice. Waiting limbo floating deep even breaths
"Hey!"
Link lay still, suddenly aware he lay on his back, eyelids peeled back, his pupils fucked by the sunlight streaming through the gaps of his roof. For a moment, he was sure there had been someone calling him, who saved him or got him drunk. He let the memories of the previous day through the door of his conscious mind. The Wisdom Ceremony. Mido.
Suddenly, he bolted upright, a wide ecstatic beam smeared over his lips, heart soaring among the clouds like a great bird, loop-de-looping and climbing higher. Link closed his eyes, sitting perfectly still, savoring the warm early sunlight and the honorary Late Start Day. He would have been up for a few hours before daybreak, but with First Alcohol, Saria and Laria comdemmned them all to a good, long, sunwarmed sleep. Link happily snuggled back into his nest of furs and blankets...
"Oh no you don't!" cried the voice again.
When Link opened his glacially blue eyes, he saw there, right there, hovering a few inches in front of his very face, was a tiny, androgynous form suspended on clear dragonfly wings and emitting a soft, almost negligible ultra-marine hue: a fairy. Her petite face was clearly visible through the light of her aura, and at the moment it showed she was somewhere between annoyed, concerned and amused.
"Who are you?" Link blurted, sitting up suddenly again, pushing the fairy away.
"Easy on the vowells, Dragon boy," She frowned, holding her nose.
"Dragon boy?" Link stated, perplexed.
"Yeah, your morning breath stinks," Sucking in a fresh lungful, she said in a more distinguished voice, "I'm Navi. You're Link right?"
"Yes," He said simply.
"Must have been some party," Navi observed, a wry grin and a glint in her eye. "It took me forever to wake you up. How much did you drink?"
"Uh, not that much, I guess," Link said, shrugging. Then all at once, the previous night and all of its implications gushed through his heart, and the joy of victory overflowed again. "I'm one of them..." he whispered. His eyes burned with the promise of tears.
"What?"
He straightened up, eyes shining. "Last night, Saria, our Wisest, made everyone see I was worth something." His lips pulled back, exposing his small, even teeth. "And Mido got shown up." Then, as though he had been shocked by the static lightning that hid in cloth and fur, Link cocked his head and gave Navi a strange look. "Are you my fairy?"
Navi jumped as though a full bolt of sky lightning coursed through her. "What? No, I-I'm just a messenger. The Deku Tree sent me to find you. He wants to see you."
The brief glow of happiness had touched him once, and Link supposed even that had been too good to last. He sighed deeply and a sick knot tied itself in his bowells.
"What does he want with me?" he whined morosely.
"He didn't tell me. It was not my place to ask."
"Oh." An idea popped into his brain. "Can Saria come with me?"
Navi regarded Link for a moment, flitting her wings thoughtfully. "She's your Wisest?"
"Yeah," Link said, nodding. "She raised me, too. Since I never had..."
His unfinished sentence hung between the boy and the fae, and for a second, both felt the same awkward sting of who they were.
"So..." Navi drawled. "Are we...going soon?"
Link shook his head affirmitively, clearing the last of his dreams from his mind. With a resolution that lifted his chin and fortified his nervous-flailing-bird heart beat, he tore himself out of his bed. He shuffled on hands and knees out of his low dwelling, held apart the fresh, green stemmed grass of his doorway and scooted into the forest outside. The dewy breezes filled his lungs; discerning nostrils catalogued the aromas wafting by, trailed by his gaze. He saw morning glory vines climbing up the eastern side of trunks, cloaking them in their sweet, thick vegetable scented purple blossoms. Deer passed close by an hour ago, whizzing by the big salty rock, marking it theirs with their signature urine. Link saw the nearly dry trickle sheltered in a dark crack. Fruit trees were heavy with flower, though they preferred the open edges of the meadows and clearings. Their perfume wafted up into the basswoods, elms and maples of Link's home. And behind him, the tangle of soapberry bushes he called his house was in full bloom, the little white faces promising foam-centered berries with their outrageous yellow throats, just begging the bees and pollinators for a good time.
The fairyless Kokiri was proud of his humble home. Nestled in a shallow decidous valley, a little stream running not too far off and only a few minutes hike to the main village, it was a good, if not prime location. He had painstakingly combed the forest for young and easily managed shrubs, planting them in a tight circle, intertwined their growing branches and withes, pruned and shaped them, a process that took a few seasons, until the soapberry bushes were a tight, spiraling mass of vegetation. A ring of low sedge grasses surrounded the base. The thicket was strategically planted atop a wide, flat, low, almost platform-like area of ground, allowing the sometimes spring -swollen stream's floody waters to pass him by, dry as an aged bone. The taller trees above were dense enough to block some rain, but a large, flattish cone of peeled cedar bark was stored behind the thicket to ensure his dryness. He replaced it only a few days before when it gave out after a very wet winter and damp spring.
Also beneath the bark canopy were Link's posessions, stored in watertight containers of many materials. He effortlessly flipped the cedar away from his baskets and picked up the top of a particularly well-woven cattail container. Lengths of tanned hides, smoky with their pinewood preservation process, were folded neatly. Link chose one of the wide strips and a handful of leather laces (called thongs). He tied a thong around his waist and passed the leather through his legs, up and over both sides of the string, creating a supportive, comfortable loincloth. Most of the other Children wore similar garments, aiming for comfortable practicality and protection with ease of movement. There was no prohibition against nudity, nor was modesty considered proper. Red bodies were red bodies, no matter the gender. Either way, it hurt to slink through the thorns, broken sticks and jagged edges of tight-packed undergrowth without a covering, and it hurt even more to snag your free-swinging junk on splintering logs.
The humid season had not yet reached the forest, so Link also selected a stole made from the skin of rabbits, draping it around his neck and over his chest. Then, he reached into a rawhide box with a lid and procured a yard-long, hardwood stick with a fire-sharpened, scraped point, dangerously sharp, hefty and useful to any Kokiri who needed to hunt, dig, pry or defend themselves against the forces of nature.
After a final, vigorous head scratching and a pinch of ground pemmican wedged between lip and gum, which he produced from a little birdskin bag, Link was ready. He and Navi acknowledged each other with a nod and a bob, and they started their journey into the new year.
