Flourishes of gray cumulus that became weighted with foreign humidity sagged lower and lower o'er the plains, bellies distending until the torrent must be allowed to seed its grounded companion with an abundant, life giving delivery. Moisture tore apart the veils, soaking the earth regardless for what was lurking on the ground. The sickening roll of thunder echoed and rolled over the settlement, tinkling glass in its settings, concerning the cattle and startling the cuccos into rips of fowl terror. Everyone's heart jumped as the too-close crack of lightning ricocheted around Homestead, long ears reverberating with the sonourous yawning of giant storm clouds. Noses, indoors and out, were assaulted by dust-disturbed atmosphere and raw ozone.

In spite of the rain's vehemence, work, chores and tours went on, unaffected by wind and water where there was shelter. The squat smithy's shed was sweltering, and the wall of heat dried clothing as soon as soggy trotters came through the open door frame. The constant, invariable clang of metal on anvil attracted Link on the way to the butcher's, and heavy drops hastened his curiosity. Kitchens smelled of metal, he knew, but he had no inkling that metal's scent was so powerful, scorched and reeking of solder, the most offensively inorganic undertaking by elfin hand. He gagged on the taste of blood but not blood, coppery and sulfurous and scored with peat and coal, hard black coal ripped from the mother earth by picks of her child, iron. Malon was chattering away about something, but the impulse to run blocked out her meaning like the storm obscured the clouds.

"Steady." Navi calmed like a horse handler. "It's the forest in you. In us." Sure her words were anything but private, his head whipped around, but of course no one else heard the fairy, as the others hardly noticed his alarm. Link straightened, and wished for clarity. "Even with Kokiri meddling with plants or rocks, metallurgy is a completely manufactured craft. In my memories, at least, I can feel the fear of fire and axes."

No, it was that dream last night! The litany of images and senses flashed in his brain again, but what did metal-scent have to do with it, besides pervade the air? This couldn't possibly be the place for…whatever it was that is going to happen.

"Hey," Malon's voice finally cut in. Link felt as though his consciousness had honed back to himself, after flying up in the ominous storm and the smithy building's greeting.

"Yes."

"Where'd ya go?" Arcing brows punctuated her simple question.

His reply was a shrug and a helpless look, but Link mastered himself under the scrutiny, and passed his hand in the air to fan himself. "I've never felt a kitchen so hot, and I am unused to hot metal, its sound or smell." He spoke loudly to compensate for the ringing of hammers.

"Would you rather go?"

Link considered, but the temptation of new Lore was too intriguing. How did one shape metal from the lumps of dirt the Kokiri knew into a blade or implement? "I will stay, and learn for a while. I'll tell you if I'm ready to leave, if I'm too hot, or Navi can't handle it."

"Don't put this on me!" she scolded, though he smiled in thanks. She gave a silent, "You're welcome," and they studied the room before them.

"Well, you wouldn't joke if you didn't feel alright," Malon said sideways. "You see the hearth, and the bellows. Bess, give us a gust."

If Link assumed Malon cracked a rude joke, he was surprised to see yet another wind-powered device used by the plainsmen. The flames in the shell-shaped oven roared in response, answering a crucial question on how iron was made pliable without words.

"And here's the anvil, where the tool is shaped for its use."

Flint and obsidian flakes, strings and balls of tinder, leather scraps and splintered wood, these were the trademarks of production, how he knew to shape the world. Something in her speech made his heart leap in destinious fascination. He knew the fate of tools, to be discarded or broken beyond use, and used unkindly for its employment. As quickly as the cold knowledge settled, he shook away the far feeling. The storm must be making him unusually moody. Still, Kokiri was a beautiful anvil.


Eller Smith, the beefy but lean hammerer, and self-proclaimed head of the Smith Clan, introduced himself with a snarly air of confrontation. His shoulders were held back and the spike in his arrow-spine belied the hunching work of a blacksmith.

"Let me speak." Navi asked, with a decided surety. Link mentally agreed to her term, and she flapped forward in her apparent plan. She followed the man to a wooden bay where shelves and barrels bore his materials.

"Iron must be tamed, steel, reined in and guided. Copper is pliable as paper and tin is its floppy cousin. Brass holds the family together and rust will be all that's left in the end," Eller lectured as he held ingots or rods or sheets of the metals in his list to demonstrate his lesson. "Lead is heavy and true, but we must be wary of our friend, for he can kill, and slowly. All yield to the crucible, the mold, the hammer."

"Sounds like a kid's poem," Navi commented, interested in the distorted reflection on the copper sheet. "One two, lace my boot, right?"

"This lesson was passed to us in Goron tongue long ago, and we do our friends honor with their words."

The fairy gave that one to him, accepting the likely expression in a nonchalant gesture.

Eller moved on from naming his materials, and began explaining unfinished projects and the end products of the diverse Smith Clan. Horse shoes, wagon rings, joists, supports, bulky hammers, delicate pointed nails and rakes, stakes and screws paraded before Link and Navi's eyes, and each marvel of technology cemented the catalogue of Hylian potential. He showed them the coal house, the immense pile of black earth that burned, all the while, ice and boasts slicking his speech.

"A rock that burns? I see, but I don't understand," Navi almost sneered, returning attitude for attitude.

"Again, the Gorons described plants and animals that were trapped in the earth for eons, turning into stone, and their energy is released by burning," Eller related brusquely.

"So is all this really just Goron knowledge?" Navi pierced. "How did Hylians negotiate for their Lore? To break their guild's control?"

Eller's soot-darkened face tightened even more. "If you want war stories, wait until you get to town, where patriotism still runs rampant."

"I think it's time to go," Malon stepped between man and fairy, and like a she-wolf would to a lower packmate, gave Eller a deriding look. "I'm sorry we can't have a civil tour."

"Sorry you can't show off the newest jewel in Talon's crown!" Eller impaled and stalked away before the redhead, boy and spark could respond.

"He was just waiting for that," Navi defended silently when Link scowled up at her. "He needed to make a scene for the newcomer, I was just helping his agenda along. Eller wanted his position to be seen as a disadvantage by us to make an impression, and we'd report back to Talon. Too bad you're too good for that."

You're too good for that, you mean. Let me figure it out next time.

"If you want…"

"Well, that was a bust," Malon poohed, and before they left the building through the same doorless lintel, she told them, "I don't know what's gotten into those Smiths, but it is a new industry in Hyrule. The pact we made with the Gorons after the war included terms to bring prosperity to the elves. Clever wording, but the effects have tripled our income since we learned to work metal again."

In the weeks of Link's education, he heard much about the War of the West that caused his own misplaced childhood. Raids and harries on border towns escalated to Royal action, but a Zoran settlement in their ancestral river caves was caught by the crossfire, and convinced by the Gerudo to discourage the Hylian intruders. Natives teamed together, and rifted the Zora tribes in the west from the eastern sect, though Hylians made no distinction. The watersource was dammed, and Hyrule burned.

Gorons were the next to defect, when their leader learned of the attack on the other elementals of Hyrule, and rode flame-spouting dragons into the towns fringing their mountains, then further to the dry, flammable plains. Kokiri's elusiveness proved to be an untouched neutral, by all outward accounts, and Saria nor the others ever mentioned a war.

Pulled into a massive, three-on-one battle, the courageous Hylian King and his endless army with nothing to lose cornered the Gerudo leader, and culled him, and every single man that opposed Hylian Rule. Heralds and bards the land over spread the news that the Zoras and Gorons pledged service to the Crown, and the Gerudo was now a race of only women, overseen by a lone man. The single man left alive of the westernmost Gerudo, the leader's own son was spared his life, but as punishment, he was imprisoned in the dungeon for ten years after swearing blood oaths, moved to a desert fort, and locked up there to this day. Rumors swirled, though, whispers of his reparations and holy quests through his deserted, decimated kingdom.

Another piece in place, Link's mental puzzle of Hyrule was ever completing. So the Goron's service must have been to teach a truer metallurgy, for Talon had told of the blades used in the war, crude iron, but still deadly.

They were trooping through the heavy rain again, and Link imagined the rain after fires raged through the east, fire that took him from a Hylian home, rains that doused and soured the hungry flames' appetite. He didn't wonder what would have happened if the rains had come sooner.

He also suspected Navi of helping him supply knowledge of the story, and he was warm with satisfaction, despite Eller's nasty attitude.

Now, the rain soaked his tunic to a dun green, dark with the moisture, and he raised his face to taste the falling water, similar, but absolutely different than the drips from trees. Not far from the fowelery and dairy was an offal-imbued dwelling with smaller sheds protruding from the main structure, and as far as Link could tell, inset in the ground, though how deep, he could not tell. Hunters stored meat in caches of stone in trenches in winter-frozen dirt, and he assumed the principle to be the same as the cheese room and buttery: temperature control. The huge herd of cattle inspired Link's imagination, and he envisioned the abundant piles of fresh and preserved meat in need of storage, and free from decay.

"Finally, there yew are!" Talon shouted, waving them on to come through a wide, whitewashed door in the stucco building. Free from precipitation once again, they wiped water from their faces, and accepted clean, white linens to hasten drying. "Knew it'd be a moment, but I was ready to come look for ya. What'd ya see?"

Malon hesitated, wringing her hair as a distraction and delay, but shook her head, and said, "We went to the fields, the mill, the looms…and the smithy."

"And?" Like any father, he expected an answer.

"And Eller was rude."

"I poked," Navi confessed in Malon's stead. "But he incited. I'll apologize later."

"Nah, don't bother," Talon dismissed, frowning under his mustache. "I've been meanin' to talk to him, about some wagon repairs and new gears for the well."

Link found Navi's eye, accusing her with his stare. You said…

"Yeah, and I'm helping his agenda along. You'll get a fresh start with him, I'm sure, at Talon's behest, and then you'll be able to learn all about your little blade. I have a feeling you'll need to."

Grateful for her example and insight about these silly status rules, Link was also disappointed at her delivery. He might have at least expected something from her, but the lesson was sure to stick.

"Anyway, shall we show you our greatest treasure," Talon imparted as though some supreme wisdom awaited his guests. He opened another set of doors, and the smell of meat and bone and blood mingled with the sight of hardwood tables bearing slabs, sides and endless cuts of cattle. Link's jaw dropped and indeed, he was impressed with the wealth. A bin of hooves, stripped of useful sinew and flavorful bits, sat unattended in a corner, and a few flies buzzed lazily. There was no indication of spoilage aside from the normal levels of aging meat.

"How do you keep it so fresh?"

"We cheat, a little. Our resident preacher and mage casts a preservation spell in here four times a year for me."

"Sterling?" He, nor Navi, fathomed the sour man for such a sensitive art.

"Oh no, a man named Alfonse Clothman," Talon clarified, knowing the other blue robe for his signature bluster. "He joined us after the war ended, when there was a push for magic users. He was not the one who pushed for Aveil's confirmation."

Link nodded understandingly, and continued to ogle the beef. They walked through the open space to more doors, Malon holding a handkerchief over her nose, and a freshly skinned carcass anticipated an autopsy, watched over by a staunch woman in a rusty chemise, hiding bloody smudges.

"I'm Chit," she said tersely, ready to get on with her work before bloating could effect the to-be-meat. She made the first slice, grabbed a hook from her bucket on the floor, and with deft twists of her wrist, the dull tip gathered, but did not puncture the tuberous organs, pulling a great tangled mass instead of unmanageable miles of intestines. Another larger bucket accepted the offering after she sliced both ends from their bodily connections, and with a bare hand, reached into the cavity and towards the throat with both hands, one holding a round knife, flicked somewhere inside and removed the tract from the esophagus to the end of a very long, twisty section of organs.

"This is the rumen, where the grass the cow eats starts breaking down," Chit demonstrated with the first, largest sac, filled with masticated grass. "It moves to the reticulum," she pushed the green goop from yet another vessel. "And it turns to cud, li'l wads they chew up to sixty times, they push it back into their mouths, then swallow it again properly, where it goes to the omasum. There, it's pushed into the final chamber 'fore the 'testines, called the abomasum, and it's the most like our stomachs, digestin' their fodder." Even drier, soured vegetal matter plopped out of the cut end between her knowing fingers.

"So it is much the same as deer, and other plant eaters," Link confirmed, gratified by the autopsy. "I was pleased to watch you work so skillfully."

Chit nodded her thanks and proceeded to show him the rest of her subject and career.


The rain fizzled near sundown, just as preparations for an indoor feast were cemented, and most gladly stayed within the dry Longhouse, gathered around the fireplaces as they waited for the kitchens to produce their nightly fare. Platters on the arms of laden young men pushed through the doors, and the vittles were distributed by status, though not obviously. Talon's family group was served first, Link a guest of honor, then the heads of the Cattle and Horse Clans, Gellum with the twisted leg and Semer, the horse-maned rider, respectively. The Breakers, Steaders, Weavers and Crafters were in line, and only after all was settled did the youths with food allow the Smith Clan their share. Link observed closely, picking up threads of resentment and advancement, the hallmarks of the status game, and Navi's keen with was more than useful in deciphering the complicated relationships. In fact, her earlier call on Eller was bearing fruit even now.

Talon made an effort to converse with the prickly Smith, offering apologies, and commissioning more of his knowledge for his Clan's benefit. Quickly averting his eyes, Link caught the direction of their conversation, drifting towards him. It wasn't long before Eller approached himself, stoic, but more placating than before, and Navi gave Link free rein to proceed.

"Master Smith," the blonde, painted boy greeted guardedly.

"Link of Kokiri," he returned, tone for tone. "I am told you have an unusual blade."

So. This was craft business to mask personal. "A sword of Kokiri, but not of forest origins, yes."

"Feel free to show me and the other Smiths. Our doorway is open."

Closest to an apology, he beamed to Navi. "Thank you. I would be interested in unraveling the knot with your expertise." A little fat on the meat never hurt.

Eller only nodded, smiled tersely and turned to rejoin his family.

"Talon has a way with people," Navi commented to him alone.

That's why he's still leader, Link thought as he shoveled more beans and pumpkin down his gullet.

Zephane was carrying a tray with mugs of a hot milk, honey and egg brew, and with a delicacy in her hands that promised a treat, the blue glazed cup she handed to him was pleasantly warm to the touch.

"I think it will still rain tomorrow morning. Shall we meet when it stops?"

She dipped her chin, and eyes sparkled in response. Zephane's tray emptied fast, and she retreated to the kitchen, Link's heart pounding, a little, though why, he couldn't imagine.

Hours into the night, kegs of ale had been breeched, and the unfamiliar wheat and barely malt, though barely a half cup he imbibed, made Link's head fuzzy and the fire entranced him. Stories and songs and music foreign to him went unnoticed for Malon's pretty enjoyment, an indulgent, free smile shining in her whole body, the way her hair glowed in the light, and the bob of her throat when she swallowed more ale, though when she refilled her cup, Link could not place in his memory. Navi's thoughts were strangely muted in his mental ears, and he sloughed them away with a little grunt to pick up his study of Malon's most gorgeous blue eyes…

Zephane watched from the doorway, heart breaking as she monitored Link's fascination with the older woman.


A/N: Such writer's block. Wow. I've spent years planning themes and tidbits, conversations and tropes, but when it comes to consolidating my ideas into narrative, sometimes it takes a while to get it flowing. I appreciate the patience, and we'll be leaving the Ranch very soon. Then it's off to Market, where more pieces of the puzzle will be fitted with the others.