Fingers dark, hands stained and black ink splashed up either forearm, Link could hardly keep a satisfied, face-stretching smile from his jaw. He sat on the teepee's rug-strewn floor with a smooth, wooden board in his lap, swaying slightly in a steady tempo. In his present rhythm, he dipped the cut end of a feather's quill into the mouth of a squat little bottle in his right hand, touched the quill to the surface of his paper, and doodled until the flow dried, and like the hawk-moth that imitates the buzzing birds, returned the quill to the inkpot so he could doodle some more. Dip, doodle. Dip, doodle. Dip, doodle…

Navi sat on the top edge of the wooden lapboard, the support for the parchment under attack by her partner, offhandedly studying her hand. Like Link, she had tested the sticky black quill tip, and was bitten by the ink as well. Her interest waned even more when the visible musings of the elf were not much more than superfluous scribbles, making marks for the sake of making marks, because he had never done it before in such a manner. The Children drew with charcoal on bark, or white chalk, but the refinement of such technology mesmerized Link, and his monotonous experimentations made for a quiet, rain-pattering-on-canvas kind of afternoon. Like little drums, he said in a cadence. Like little drums…

More than his scratching, Talon's snores set the pace for Link's chosen activity, and the plop and scritch scritch scritch of repetition wove in and out of Talon's gusty and mucous-clogged catnap. Malon swooshed out of the tent some time ago, bundled in a cloak and effusively babbling about finding outerwear for Link, and left a happy Talon free for a nap on his bed. The rut was deep, and Link was so absorbed in the swaying, the drumming rain and jerking quill, his perceptive ears let escape the rustle of boots in the grass.

"Wait until you see what I found for you!" Malon espoused gaily as her toe wound its way around the lip of the canvas door, pushing it aside and she sidled in, arms laden with textiles. Link's head shot up in unexpected disbelief, and meant to scramble out of her way, but with the bed against his back, there was nowhere to sidle. "All sorts here, my cousins and friends could spare!" As she passed Link, her boots whipped the skirt out, snagging the polished lapboard by a corner and sent it sliding from Link's knees. Navi shot up, avoiding the tangle and the ink dribbled forlornly onto the rugs.

After a stymied instant, Malon swooped down and grabbed the inkpot, the quickness of anger in the snatch.

"What'd I miss?" the beefy-armed man inquired dozily, still yawning as Malon attempted to sop up the lampblack seeping into a crimson and cream carpet while Link stood looking shocked and Navi was hovering with her arms tangled crossly and chin twisted steeply to the left. Malon, Talon and Navi gazed at Link from their places and his belly constricted, feeling like a cornered beast and his tongue burned to push past his teeth and shout-but he wouldn't act. The flare was too new, too fast and fleeting to find any coherence; confused, Link gulped and made himself face each friend.

"The ink escaped," he told Navi, twitching his right ear. She cocked her head the other way, agitation still prevalent. Then she groaned, all her dignity aligned again. He turned to the sky eyes of Malon. "Kokiri are supposed to be hunters, in tune with the world and able to discern between a cricket and his brother. Your boots must have silent spells."

"Oh ho!" Malon cooed, delighted, hands nearly touching her face in modesty before she remembered the ink-soaked rag she was holding. Her beam was self-conscious as she lowered the dirty appendages towards the stain, working with a new rag. "I'm sorry. I don't know quite what happened. These sand-hopping feet of mine!" There was a bitter echo in her self-depreciation.

"Lemme see what you drew," Talon requested with a proffered gesture. "I think I heard you when I was asleep."

"We heard you well enough," Navi stated in a subtle tease. Talon returned a wink.

"Here."

Talon was blown away again. Though unlike the classical art and woodcuttings of his time, Link's doodles were simple line depictions of the animals of his home forest. Untrained and sometimes out of proportion, his quill marks and dots decorated the forms that absolutely leaped off the page in their alien and heart-stirring style. When Malon finished with her self-appointed chore of straightening up the writing desk mess and putting away the lapboard, the paper was relinquished to her.

"My word," she gasped. "They're deer and wildcats! I've never seen anything like these. Another side to the hero-he's an artist too!" Link was distinctly opposed to her calling him a hero. His little blade and fleeting forest glory were hardly enough, and he had done nothing for these people yet. He let it flow past him. Malon continued, "I'm sure the children would love to see this, maybe you could even teach them when you go out-"

"Huh?" he yelped.

"Well, you can't stay in here all day," said the woman playfully, but Link knew when he was being volun-told. She handed the page back to him. "So I wrangled you something warm to wear and we'll give you a tour." She bounced pleasantly on her feet, a refined impatient squirm if ever Link saw one.

"But the children?" Link probed, now cautiously eyeing the heap of garments Malon had carried inside with her, throwing them on the bed in her rush to tidy.

"Yes, they're waiting to see you. Not even the most conservative adults are going to be able to hold them back from inspecting you."

"Do you think they'll be more forgiving of Link's culture?"

Malon tapped her nose. "Navi has the idea. The kids are still learning about our world as well, and the adults might spook at the sight of any strangeness, so I believe that putting you to pasture with the young ones first will ease you into our way of life." Stalwartly smiling, she sorted through the garments into a few piles, arranging them. "Pick something you'd like."

He set aside his drawing. Guardedly, he reached out and grabbed a swatch of fabric the color of dried grass, testing it between rubbing fingers and appalled at the finery presented. Kokiri weavings were coarse, natural homespun lengths on finger-operated looms. Lon textiles, as he would learn later, were only linen, but the scale of production, availability of technology and the engineered flax fibers of selective breeding left the Children's craft in the dust. If I ever get back, Link silently aspired, I will bring this fabric of air to them.

He studied the outfits of his sponsors discreetly, experimentally touching or rubbing swatches, and finally, he picked up the greenest garment, blinking seriously, his mouth pursed in concentration. "How should it be worn?"

"This hole is for your head. That's it. Go ahead, put your arms through the sleeves, and there you have it!" Talon stopped happily when the shirt fell into place over Link's shoulders, then shook his head. "Damn, don't you look weird." Then he laughed, long and loud, belly bouncing with his joy. The three waited expectantly for him to wipe his eyes. Link liked his guffaws, his gush of humor, coming suddenly and leaving him jovial. His liver warmed, and Link's heart chuckled along with his friend. "She wrangled you into Hylian garb faster'n a trick rider fallin off his horse! I expected some fight from ya, but I guess that's the power of a pretty smile!"

Or smell, Link's little heart voice purred, and inhaled the scent on his clothes, still lingering from a trip through the rain…Why was that enough to make him sweat? He grimaced a little, hoping no one noticed.

Navi fortified the man's statement with an expression of wonder. "I don't think any Kokiri has ever worn Hylian coverings. Unless there was a trade sometime, you must be the first to wear a…" She looked to the redhead. "What's he wearing?"

"A tunic or shirt. Your legs need protection as well, and that's what pants are for," said Malon. She held up a white set of breeches, two tubes attached to a waist and crotch. Link eyed them, trying to envision threading his legs through the narrow openings, instead of the more familiar method of wrapping furs and leather around his ankles, knees and thighs during cold weather. He traveled this far without them and his legs were just fine, if not for a few bruises and scrapes that were unavoidable in his chosen lifestyle. Moving throughout the natural world meant unfriendly surfaces, unkind terrain and the highest stakes: life or death. What was edible? What was poisonous? What kind of venomous critters waited, unseen and hungry? Was that sound on the wind a sign of abundance or the path to empty hands and bellies? These things a Kokiri must know, and Link was well versed in the practice of enduring hardship.

Perhaps, he should just try them.

Already barefoot, Link held the waistline between fingertips and slid his toes down a leg covering, and balancing like an ungainly crane, shot his other foot into the pants. He pulled upwards on the top hem and gingerly let them settle on his hips, tightening a drawstring. So far so good, he smiled and then he tried to crouch. Immediately, fabric gathered behind his knees and the test run turned sour when he realized his range of motion in these-crotch restricting traps was non-existent. Before he could make a move, Malon had already looped a leather belt around his waist, cinching it securely, if a little tight, he thought, feeling for all the world like a rained-on wildcat in displeasure.

"And those feet!" she scolded. "You'll need some real shoes. Prairie is tougher than it looks." She sat down on her bed, folding the unused garments for his future use.

The coverings felt too constricting, and every tight seam pulled on his skin like grabbing paws. Link did not like the breeches, at all, and respectfully lowered and held them out to Malon at arm's length. As if she was unsure if it was some joke, Malon took them back, watching, puzzled while the boy straightened the belt to his liking.

"This should be fine," he nodded, admiring his legs under the long hem, liking the sway of the extra fabric. Even with shorter sleeves that both adults and children sported, they still reached to his forearms, covering much of his painted skin, and a tingle of identity rang in his soul. Who was he? Hylian or Kokiri? Why not both? He hoped he could balance his roots with the good Lore of his forest.

"But you're bare from the waist down!" Malon finally managed, still holding the pants.

He tilted his head. "I have a breechclout. It was acceptable last night, wasn't it?"

Stopped short, Malon's taut frown melted into an irresolute grin. "I suppose. I stopped noticing, but it was so strange at first. Kids are always dirty and unkempt, but you" And with a significant wink, said, "You looked wild." She folded the refuted garment. "And you still do. I don't think you'll ever be tamed, Link."

"Here here!" Talon cheered, quietly but all his heart poured into the support.

"Here here!" Navi echoed. "I like it. Do I need clothes?" the fairy bent towards Malon.

"No, I don't think we even have doll clothes small enough for you."

Navi reposed, only minimally keeping herself in the air with tiny flicks of her wings. "Good."

Next, Link added his sling, the leather strap with a deep pocket, passing it through his belt, his little sack of cherry pebbles was looped and secured and he tied on his smallest obsidian blade in a colorfully beaded sheath. The sword, spear and pack stayed behind, and the Kokiri-raised Hylian felt readily equipped.

After a comfortable minute of the breeze-puffed canvas and crackling fire as the only soundtrack, Talon patted a thigh and creaked off the bed, stretching upwards and then pointed his arms to his toes, loosening a muscle or two in his back. His mustachioed smile also widened conspiratorially, motioning to the simple door. Malon, practically bursting with anticipation, sprang like a doe across the hearth, pushing open the portal to Link's unveiling and rebirth to the people of his race, if not blood. More would be talked about, the gaps in his knowledge filled gradually. Talon, in his secret memories, knew only too well the dangers of culture shock.

Link breathed deep, gathering his courage to face-what? Would there be a crowd? Was the whole camp out there? And then, Navi was beside him, a minute hand gently making contact with his ear. Right. Perspective, he was reminded, her tiny fingers dwarfed by his. That was enough to restrain his pounding heart as he trailed his sponsors out of the tent.


Anyone within sight of the patriarch's tent saw immediately the supple Malon climb out, followed by her father, and then the Forest Boy stalked out with the fairy nearby, and the excitement grew in those who took advantage of the stop in precipitation. Steely skies still dominated, and the promise of rain loomed at the distant horizon, a stiff wind steadily bringing the moist front closer to the Lon's land. Children were spattering through the camp, throwing mud in splashes and dirty waves, calling that the Wild Boy and his fairy were out. Adults approached at the summons dutifully, and to the humor of Link and his friends, most tried to appear to have a legitimate excuse for gathering!

"Jim, I had a question about the cow!" "Millie, thank goodness the rain let up!" "Does anyone have any carrots?"

Talon whistled a shrill note to signal the crowd to drop the charade, and most gave up on looking casual.

"Link of Kokiri will be staying with us for a time. I expect everyone to keep civil, and not to overload the lad. But I'll tell ya, he might surprise you as well." His words were like a spell-every child present rushed forward at the unvoiced summons, surrounding Link in an energetic swarm, arms swinging, and each eager to lay a finger on the Wild Boy, wondering if they too could turn wild.

"What's yer name?" shouted a thickly-accented girl. The herd quieted, deferring to the blonde with a button mushroom nose and a permanent pouty mouth. Only the kids little more than babes were oblivious to her claim. "It's Link, right?"

"That's what Talon said, Zephane!" sneered a slightly older boy. He strutted in a half circle, studying the foreigner.

Immediately, Link was less than impressed by this unmannered pack. At his worst, Mido played a high game of teasing ostracism, and gossip. These rascals were unstructured and unruly. Carefully watching the boy in boots too large for him, Link poised his tongue against remarks, thinking not of the other's feelings, but Malon. He would hate to make a bad name for the Kokiri, or himself.

"Kids, I'd like you to show Link around camp. Tell him a little about our way of life, and be nice," Malon added sternly. "I'll know if you lie, too. There'll be consequences."

Hardly intimidated, the native ranch boy drawled, "Aw, Miss Malon," He flicked his hand in a shoo-fly way. "We only want to have some fun. But I promise, on my honor, that I'll be nice." While his mouth spouted niceties, Link couldn't help but notice the tension he covered with child-like fidgeting. Used to reading the body language of children conditioned not to lie, Link had no doubts about this one's duplicity.

His promise seemed to placate the woman, and she gave a little encouraging nod to Link. "Why don't you run to the stables?"

Needing no other permission, the gaggle broke formation and many ran giggling past the adults still waiting for news. Link stayed, conflicted. Malon and Talon were going to talk about him. About the forest. Like broth that was too hot, his mouth burned as he regretted sharing so much Lore, the secrets of the Kokiri and those two were going to relay his memories and stories from their filtered, Hylian view. He didn't need to be with the children of the camp; he was going to stay right here and retell his stories himself.

He whispered aside to Navi, "I'm going to make sure these people understand about the forest."

"No." In one syllable, she forced dismissal and a promise into her carefully spat reply. "I will." Her response took Link aback, but before he even drew breath, Navi tipped an ear towards him. "I think you'd be too comfortable here. Go learn something new. And show that kid a thing or two." She confirmed his own thoughts in a knowing, hard look.

Well. A stone in his belly rolled. He really couldn't object to that offer. The slight knowledge spirit's explanations were as good as his word, probably better since she has a live line to the Lore of the Forest Pools. Going without her to learn about his new friends, though, felt oddly like tearing himself away from a choice harvest-her razor wit and observations had already nestled themselves deeply into his heart such a short way into their journey. Link trusted her to enlighten the plainsmen about his forest kin, to clarify, no doubt, Malon's passionate repetitions. And the boy…

Shoving away the indecision, Link followed the trail left by his new mentors. He had to smile, as he walked alone under the dreary sky, clad in a fine green tunic, no presence at his side, strangely free to start anew. The cluster of tents sat on his right, sprawling in irregular patterns, but arranged in strict and even relation with neighbors, illuminated by the decorations clacking in the wind, flicked about by their leather ties. Some sported braids of grass or hair, rags of multiple colors, horns of the animals of the prairie and river bottoms, desiccated hooves, feathers and carved wooden disks. Certain groups of tents shared elements, but no two were exactly alike, and Link approved of the whimsical identification markers that danced on the swift air currents that tortured everything exposed. He wondered about the broader groupings, though. Why did one half of the camp have a cloven foot dangling and the other half put up crescents of some horn-like material? Weren't they all Lons'? He understood individual markers-they were your unique symbol. Why share?

"This way, you tree-hopper," shouted the boy who talked to Malon. He didn't have to make such a fuss, Link frowned, connecting the path between the children and a building that even from his distance emanated a cloying dung and sweat odor he immediately associated with the leggy, long-necked creatures that the Lons attended the night before when he arrived. Also recognizing the bend of a sneer in the name he was called, Link was forced to keep his own lips from twisting.

Instead, he vented his annoyance into a shouted, "What's your name?" There. Just loud enough to project and relieve the pressure on his palate.

"Mullick," he bobbed without any politeness. "This is Zephane, my cousin." Link was sufficiently close to recognize the blonde's mushroom nose. "Pino and Pina, Archie, Bunder, Gernum, Lean, Dilly and Aubron. They're my troop, and when we're all old enough, we'll form our own clan."

Link nodded gravely, curious of the anger and wistfulness in the boy's statement. His troop was obviously his group of lackeys, like Hido and Bado to Mido, those loyal to him because he had that cruel charisma of a leader. He could read the rank of each child, the tendencies of their loyalty just by where they were standing and how they held themselves; Link had twelve years of practice in the game of comparative rank, and worked relentlessly to ingratiate himself into the ladder, learning the hard lessons of respect given and harsh rebuke. Mullick was an amateur.

A pattern appeared before Link, and with crystal vision, realized his disdain was probably misplaced for Mido, but Mullick's derision most likely stemmed from a surprisingly similar situation to Mido's: he had no idea where this alien stranger was supposed to fit into his comfortable and regularly reinforced world. He must run with the pack, Link thought, pleased with his logic, and hoped he might find a way to ease Mullick's concerns.

He must be careful with his questions, then. Expose too much ignorance and risk scorn, or promote too much knowledge and be taken as a knower-of-all-things, and no one liked that, so much as he'd seen before he came to the plain.


A/N: I've always thought Link would have a hard time fitting in with Hylian children, after being raised in a village of children who had to fend for themselves against nature. These kids are babied and coddled, to his standards, and I am having so much fun torturing my characters with misunderstandings and cultural gulfs.