The troupe waltzed through the grass to the squat mother of buildings on the plain, the stables, long and low, reeking of horse, a symphony of snorts, whickers and squealing whinneys emitted from the wooden doors that banged politely in the fitful breeze. Link's nose tickled with the storm smells of wet ozone and fragrant mud. Interested in the stables and the children who grew up with the horses, there was still a wary rumbling in his stomach akin to the feeling he experienced when it was time to strike out on the hunt. His experience with animals included observation and hunting, usually many stealthy lengths away, to come so close to an animal like the men and women who led horses around by a rope attached to the head, was outside his sphere of familiarity. Now individual horses appeared from the gloomy interior, the suffuse light of the day emphasized the white patches on most of the beasts, their distinctive body language more and more clear to Link the closer they approached.

"You don't have horses in the forest," Mullick said with a casual toss of his head toward Link, either commenting or bragging as they crossed the stable threshold and stopped inside. Link tasted the manure and horse sweat, felt the hay particles dancing over his skin, even in the usually restricting humidity of a rainy day. A long line of tall compartments lined the building, a row to each side, and one horse to a section. Few of the equines deigned to notice the entrance of the kids, but one bone-and-berry colored animal eyed Link for his unfamiliar scent.

"Right," the blonde hunter conceded, not moving from just inside the door. "I've never seen anything like them, really. Deer, wolves, scrubs, mountain goats in the hills, I have watched many. Horses are…so tall." He even made his voice break in uncertainty, and pleasantly awaited Mullick's teachings. Link's gall only burned a little for his act, but endearment was tricky.

"Yeah, well, long legs, you know," Mullick definitely bragged this time. He picked out a carrot from the full basket just inside the twitchy stable doors, which Link noticed were hooked to sturdy loops on the wood walls, restraining them from the prying fingers of the wind. The ranch kids all mimicked the leader, and each of them chose a different stall, holding out the root on a flat palm, and with dainty velvet lips wobbling in pleasure, every single root was accepted, and the long faces lowered, allowing contact for the tasty payment.

"How are they so calm? Have you captured them recently?" There was an ache in Link's jaw from keeping it above the ground. Exposed, white blocky teeth crunched the treats on every side of him; it was too easy to feel the phantom sensation of his naive fingers' bones crushed between those chompers. Gohma's death throes flashed in his memory, the pincers of his skull's demise glinting in recreated drama, and suddenly, the tame horse's chewing no longer incited anxiety.

"Capture? Only if they escape," Mullick said, still flexing verbal muscles. "The Lons have had horses since forever."

Making a show of his facial expressions, his discovery was nonetheless real as he processed and excitedly divined sense from Mullick. "Of course, they live here! This, and the grass are their habitat," Link finally apprehended the tantalizing mystery he had not realized was bothering his logic. "Talon says you ride and feed them, but I assumed it was a symbiosis, which I guess it is, just not a traditional one." None of the little Lons knew what a "symbiosis" was, and if there was fancy, equine lingo, Link pulled back his inward-focused enthusiasm, and leveled expectantly with Mullick, so he could be the one to orally wow. "I haven't even thought about horses much since I arrived, but I wondered if they roamed on their own until dusk when you feed them."

A few chuckled and blew amused winds through pursed lips. "Not horses!" pipped the chestnut-browed Archie. "Cows are in the pasture until we move the herds, but horses live here or get tied to a picket."

"Cow" Link was familiar with as a female descriptor, but pasture and picket needed some clarity.

"Pasture is the grass cows eat, and picket lines are what we use to keep horses safe from thieves at night when we drive the herds back to Homestead or Market," Mullick walked and talked, sure of his cultural heritage, and so, free to access all parts of the stables, leading his troupe plus one deeper into the establishment. "We don't live here all year, so this is Cottonwood Camp. The cows are happier when they eat southern grass tips before Market Days, and that's why we come so far from Castle Town, only to drive them back."

"What's Castle Town?"

Mullick's eyes widened for a moment, and in a triumphant understanding, clarified, "Lots of people live in a place up north, and our cattle become meat to sell to the people. There's no forest, and the plains are for farms in the north, so they don't hunt." His tongue clicked, and Mullick pressed his seniority. "What's hunting like?"

Link's first instinct was to tell Mullick that he would show him, he was sure that would gain him favor in a heartbeat, but Saria hadn't taught him to hunt until he mastered several kinds of Lore. Instead, Link grinned tightly, and recounted his favorite story. "It was the first winter after I made a spear from a sapling tree and a little blade of stone, and I was hungry. The snow lasted a whole moon longer than it usually does, and our meat supplies had been ransacked by predators." Skullkid stories would wait, he promised himself. After "forest devil" comments last night, he needed to give no credibility to that particular statement. "I was wearing every fur I could tie to myself," he mimed bundling up, and still shivering in the mock cold. "The wind was like cat claws, and my fingers turned black at the knuckles, even with three sets of hand coverings. Tromping from sun-up to dusk, I had found no trails, no spoor, nor sign of life, aside from a couple of scrawny sparrows," Link eyed the two smallest children, both lanky of leg and spatulate hands, indicating what he might think of them. They immediately picked up the suggestion, and where Link expected a real sparrow call, the two, Pino and Pina, squawked and cheeped in cheap imitation. The other kids smiled. At least they knew how to participate in a story, Link thanked silently.

He continued, "I turned back towards our Clearing, weary and about to starve, and every step was torture. I wasn't sure if I could make it all the way…" He paused for a little effect, then roared, "That was when a BEAR lumbered out of the brush!" Link thrust himself up, puffing out his chest and pretended to bear-walk into the group. Squealing delightedly, the youngest members scattered. "I held up my spear!" His knife was in the air. "I held my ground! And then, the bear snuffled and laid down in the snow." He slacked his posture, a puzzled look set on his face. "He was dead. I never even used my spear, and I realized how close to the Clearing I was, so I called out as loudly as I could for the other Kokiri. Though I provided meat, no one recognized me as a hunter that day, despite the evidence that I had been out searching."

"So? They were right," Mullick affirmed, and set Link's hook.

Bait taken, Link told him, "I hunted small game, rabbits and fowls, but any larger animals gave themselves back to the earth before I could harm them."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zephane piped, every feature down-turned in confusion.

"The first buck I was stalking had no idea I was following him, until I stepped on a twig, and he bounded into a dry streambed, caught his foot between some rocks and smashed his head on a boulder. I had an elk in my sight when he spotted me, turned to run and tangled himself fatally in a stand of grapevines. I decided to hunt a big cat just outside Kokiri Forest, in the foothills. I watched him for three days from afar, learning about his life as a young bachelor fighting for territory when a bigger male came along, clamped my male's windpipe and seemingly left him to me. I built a cairn of rocks over his body and planted a local laurel bush nearby. Laurel is the Kokiri symbol for growth and perseverance in the face of all else."

"But what about actually hunting? Did you ever spear anything bigger than a rabbit?" Mullick insisted.

"In the past few years, yes, I've overcome my odd luck with skill. But I did hunt every animal I have eaten, and so, for me to live, they must die. To hunt is to pursue life to take it. How an animal comes to you and sustains you doesn't matter. Hunting is respect for your prey. The moment you lose respect is the moment you are not a hunter, when your lack of respect turns you into a killer, alone."

Thankfully, Mullick nodded slowly, thinking of his own culture's similar edict. "My father deals with the cattle before Market, and he's always said that without respecting the cows for their purpose, we would have no purpose but to kill. Instead, we provide nourishment to people."

"Exactly," Link heaved a sigh inside, silent about the gamble his story relied on; he had no idea if the Lons had anything resembling his ideology. Malon and Talon hadn't covered cultural mores yet, so Mullick's easy acceptance felt like a windfall. Still, the game had only begun.

"You've hunted a lion?" Zephane questioned breathlessly, her voice quavering a little. Link observed her inconspicuously, something false inciting his curiosity. She was expectant, eyes on him, alone, and she seemed to hang in suspension amidst the horse stalls, waiting for Link to resume.

Ready to answer, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and Zephane's excitement made his blood rush in his ears, both thrilled and terrified at the same time, like standing in the path of a charged boar, now confused with the onset of emotion, and after a couple of stammered guttural flailings, Link found his words again, concerned with those weird stirrings. "Uh, yes, I have. I have hunted a lion."

"Would you ever save me from a lion if it were attacking me?" Zephane prompted gushily, blue eyes wide enough to reflect stars, and hands clasped over her heart.

"Well, I guess, but, uh, I don't think any lions live out here. And if a lion can kill another lion that easily, I don't think there would be much hope-"

The shock and rage contorting the little girl's face made a stone fall through Link's belly, and he didn't think asking what he said wrong was the right path for him. Apparently, realism was not expected for an answer.

"Easy, cuz," Mullick rolled his eyes. "You are way too dramatic, and Link is right. There aren't any lions out here."

"Are you sure?" Asked one of the troupe, a little black-haired boy. "I thought I heard one last night-"

"Gernum, you didn't hear a lion. It was probably your sister and her boyfriend," the leader offered.

"No, it growled, just like papa does in the stories!"

"Well, then it was your papa playing a trick. Now Link," Mullick said, a tiny reprieve lacing his redirection, and gloriously in charge of his charges, about to pass a final judgment on the newcomer. The ex-Kokiri awaited the next statement, feeling the turning point of "getting to know one another" approaching like a snake underfoot. "Tell us why you really left the forest."

The chorus of agreement for a further story was a bit of a knife in his heart, but Link wanted to pass this boy's final test, and would show him the strength he carried inside. "I told everyone last night that I was born a Hylian baby, but my mother got lost in the forest, and she made a deal with the Guardian of the forest. If her body nourished the woods and the life in it, I could be raised as a Kokiri for a time, and when I started to become a man, I must leave. So, I learned to live as a Child of the Forest, and now, I suppose I must learn to live as a Hylian Man. I also want to look for an artist who may be able to tell me about some drawings a friend of mine found at the beginning of my life."

"Kok'ry pictures?" said Dilly, who wore a rust colored apron.

"No," Link shook his head, paying a hand on a velvet nose to draw out the minute. "Hylian pictures."

Each kid gasped. "Where are they?" was the common question.

"I don't have them anymore. My friend never got to show me; the paper didn't survive for very long in the forest. But I have an excellent description."

"Tell us!" implored more than half of them. Mullick was interested, and attempting to look otherwise.

"Tiny black lines march across the paper, and on all sides, red lines chase themselves, and a yellow triangle sits on the top."

"Mullick! I know that!" a child stepped forward, and the leader egged on an answer. "My mum is a waver-"

"Weaver, Aubron."

"-Weaver, and she makes really pretty stuff. She got a picture like that, but it wasn't a picture! It was a letter!"

"What is a letter?" Link's breath rushed out of his lungs. This was it!

"Words without speaking," Mullick said quickly, for the first time accommodating Link's ignorance. "Someone from far away can send a message in little pictures, and you'll know what they're saying, even though you're not speaking to their face." Traces of patience trickled into his words.

"It is a map for words and ideas," Link supplied on his own, floored by the idea. If he had not understood the map from earlier, he doubted he would be able to grasp the notion that a message spoken could be communicated without immediacy. "We'll never know what it said."

"I'm not done!" Aubron drawled stubbornly. Link conceded. "The letter told my mum that the Royal Family wanted a rug with a picture woven into it. No one else would use the Royal Family's paper!"

Hardly believing he had an answer to his past so soon was eclipsed by the tantalizing possibility of more questions. "Who's the Roilll family? Can I speak to them today?"

"Roy-all, and no," Zephane sneered understandingly. "They live past the Market, and it takes weeks to get there! And you'll need a Royal appointment to see them at all. Talon might be able to do something when we go to Market in the next moon."

"That's right, you're going! I'd like to go with you, and then I'm sure I can figure out a way to find someone who knows what I should do," Link felt pleased to be standing in a manure-infused building, an enticing direction to be pursued, presenting itself with a destiny so right that the decision to go to Market resonated like a sonorous elk's call through the night in his ears. As long as Aubron was right, no other family would use that paper and style, and Link likened it to the identifying markers on the tips of the teepees of the Lon Clan, and out of respect, their fellow Hylians would use their own designs to send messages. It was a lead, and an unexpected ray of hope lit the future. He was among peers akin to him, their adult and child leaders warming to him, accepted so quickly into the fold, that the Kokiri looked cold for denying this boy bereft of family the comfort of friendship. Pity and empathy were a start. Mullick's tempering began as a game, the most important kind of game nonetheless, and Link foresaw the rewarding tendrils of a companion uncurling. After all, respecting one's prey lead to a full belly.

"Can you tell me more about the horses?" Link asked generally, eager to store away his plans like a squirrel with a nut. Until he had more information, perhaps confirmed by Talon, he especially wanted Navi's advice.

"Well, um…" Zephane started, grasping for her horse Lore. "We ride on their backs, but not every horse likes being ridden, and they have to get used to it."

"They eat oats and carrots!" volunteered Bunder, who sucked a loogie back up into his nostril.

"Horses wear shoes!"

"Alright kids, that's enough," drawled a man from one of the back stalls. "He wanted facts, not just the obvious." A ruddy face glowed under the lamplight, getting closer to the group, and he smelled of the onion he was munching on. "I'm Tillman Stabler." He extended his allium-scented hand to Link, who shook it with the exact touch of a new convert. "I suckled with horse milk, so ask away."

Regardless of the assault in his nose, the blonde boy was already at ease with this man in leathers and a tail-like, single scalp lock hanging over a shoulder, also reminiscent of a horse's mane.

"How long did it take to breed them into domestics?"

Tillman wore shock well enough to hide most of it. "I doubt those kids taught you those words."

"The Kokiri are master gardeners. We know breeding."

Wide eyes crinkled in amused information. "Alright. Most of our beasts are ancestrally western stock, first picked off the plains out of wild herds. Through at least seven or eight generations of Lons-"

"That's about five hundred seasons-"

"Thanks, Mullick," Link inserted, then tuned his attention back to Tillman.

"The horses lost most of their spook, and the Lons adapted their lifestyle to accommodate the horse's happiness: wide open spaces for running like the wind, plenty of cattle to wrangle and sweet grass from favorite seasonal haunts." Tillman's hand spread as if to provide an idea of space unimaginable, wonder painting his features in thankful reminiscence.

"And how did the cows get involved?"

Tillman considered his knowledge. "Our first riders were nomads without a regular route or Homestead, and the farther east they rode, the more cattle they encountered. At first, they were hunted like the game that was so plentiful in that Golden Age, but the thick herds obstructed the rider's pace. Some of them startled the cattle to move them away, and then someone got the idea to purposely drive the cattle to make way for the roads that were starting to pop up in the Eastern Plain. A hundred Clans started driving herds all over the place, making a bigger mess than before, so the Lon Clan stepped up to oversee the conveyance of the cows from Southern Pasture to Northern Market without making too much trouble. Without the horses, we would not have cattle, and devoid of the cattle, we would still be shiftless nomads."

"I hope it's not too wet to go see the cows," Link suggested, Mullick agreeing it was worth checking, and leaving Tillman and his onion reek behind, forging into the future.


A/N: It's been some time, I apologize! I got caught up in back story and a new job as a florist. So. Fucking. Cool. Now that I'm balancing work with fun again, instead of adjusting, I should be updating pretty regularly from here out. Prepare for the long haul.