Author's notes part 1: I should have been studying for my finals. Instead, I finished this for you guys. Oops. ^^;

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and/or faved chapter 1. I was not expecting nearly as much support for my first story. Your reviews and enthusiastic comments have really motivated me to keep on writing, even when I really didn't feel like it. There were some parts of this chapter that were really hard for me to write, and your feedback was what kept me going. I write so that others will enjoy what happens in my brain. You guys have no idea how much your support means to me. I am absolutely astounded. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you!

This chapter ended up being waaaaaay longer than I had originally anticipated, but more on that later. I took artistic license with some of the things that happened in Skyward Sword, so spare me the "Why didn't the potions heal Link?" and "Why didn't he just use a fairy?" Answer: Because I saw them as purely a game mechanic so you didn't die 45 times during impossibly hard boss fights.

...Moving on...

Now to answer some questions and respond to reviews:

FBFan: Thank you! Glad you liked it!

Kathryn: Thanks! I love me a good baddie. A good baddie? Is that an oxymoron? Probably.

Guest (April 4th): Is this a torture fic?

-Yes...and also no. Most of the torture happened just before the start of the story. That's not to say that there won't be any pain in this...but you'll have to keep reading to find out. *Maniacal laughter*

Rainy: I appreciate it!

Warden of Lore: Glad it piqued your interest. I plan to hold it, so stay tuned. :)

Guest (April 13th): OMG Awesome!

Bubblegumelf: Thank you for the long and thoughtful review! I always loved Pipit and wish that he was given more screen time in the game. He seemed like such a noble character and an all around good guy, and as soon as I got the idea for this story, I knew there was going to be a lot more Pipit around. He is such an undervalued character, and I hope I'm doing him justice. There is a lot more character development for him in this chapter. Both he and Link are about to go through the ringer. Though Link has already been through quite a lot...I guess you'll have to keep reading! ;)

Lee: Mmm...okay!

Guest (April 22): Did Ghirahim rape Link? Is that why he doesn't have his tunic?

-No. Link's tunic is gone because there isn't anything left of it. If that kind of nonconsensual interaction took place, Link wouldn't have any pants. But that's not what happened. I never really envisioned Ghirahim as the rape-y kind of villain. To be sure, that guy is freakin' creepy and ultra fabulous, but I don't see him as the guy that gets his rocks off in response to someone else's pain. A lot of people have done that take on Mr. Fabulous, but that was not my intention. Granted, I left everything that happened before the start of this story up to the readers' imaginations, so...I mean...if you wanted that kind of thing to have taken place, then that's up to you. I'm not going to write that kind of stuff, though. Not my cup of tea.

Without further ado, STORY TIME!

Sprinting past watchtowers, the pair vaulted over crudely constructed barricades. Bokoblins screeched as they caught sight of the fleeing knights and ran after them in pursuit. Horns sounded in alarm. Frantic, Link and Pipit launched themselves over a stream of glowing lava, huffing as they caught their footing on the rough gravel. With each stride, the blue and gold scabbard slapped painfully against the exposed wounds on Link's bare torso. One by one, the watchtower spotlights found the Skyloft knights as they bounded away from the volcanic temple. The pig-like bokoblins were everywhere. Link and Pipit avoided them where possible, but as more and more poured in, it became clear that they would have to fight their way out. With a wet squelch, Link cut down the brown-skinned foe directly in their path and pressed on.

Pipit panted as he pumped his legs. The oppressive blasts of dry heat from the molten streams below burned the air in his lungs and caused his eyes to water. The ever-present ash cloud coated his already parched mouth with a film of filth. The loftwing statue was in sight, but the lake of sputtering lava between the it and the knights made a direct route impossible. He fearfully glanced over his shoulder at the army of swine tailing them and willed his legs to move faster. Link was beginning to slow, and Pipit caught up to him as they neared an elevation change on the path. Link gasped for breath and winced with each step as he fell further behind his uninjured friend. Pipit's heart sank.

Shit, he realized. His potions are wearing off. We don't have much time.

The older brunette leapt and hoisted himself up onto the ledge. "Take my hand!" he shouted to the hero as he extended his arm. Link stumbled as he neared the ledge, but managed to jump up and lock his hand around Pipit's forearm. The hero let out a strangled cry as the yellow-clad knight heaved him up onto the higher path. With Pipit's assistance, Link staggered to his feet and the pair surged forward with Pipit in the lead.

Link struggled to keep up as the last of the potions' numbing effects faded away. The agony had returned. His lungs burned. He couldn't get enough air. The cloud of hot soot was suffocating. Every lunge, every step, every breath was torturous. Pipit was pulling further and further ahead, and Link could not keep an even pace. Still, he stumbled onwards, determined to make it to the statue. His breaths came in pained whimpers and ragged gasps. Each jarring jolt of his foot on the stone shot a bolt of pain through his body. His vision was starting to blur around the edges. Another volcanic explosion shook the ground. The world seemed to shift and roll, and Link's legs gave out from underneath him.

Pipit heard a pained shout behind him and turned to watch his closest friend bounce and roll to a stop. "Link!" he cried out as he skidded to a halt. He started to backpedal to his fallen comrade, but a group of snarling Bokoblins rounded the corner and clanged their weapons together, cutting off the path to the statue. The goblins in pursuit caught up as well, laughing at the surrounded pair. Pipit brandished his stolen sword and slowly backed up towards Link, who lay on his side on the hot stone coughing violently. But before he could get close, the Bokoblins in front of him surged forward, locking the inexperienced knight in a deadly dance of dodge, parry, and counter.

Sparks flew as hardened steel clashed against crudely forged iron. "Get up, Link!," Pipit called out over his shoulder as he shoved his sword forwards, overpowering the pig engaging him. "We're almost there!"

The hero's limbs shook as he forced himself over onto his hands and knees, ignoring the grit grinding into his burns. His heart raced, frantically trying to pump blood he didn't have to limbs that didn't want to respond. His chest heaved, struggling to suck in enough oxygen. His shattered ribs screamed in protest. His head pounded with such ferocity that it made his vision swim. Yet he refused to give up. His body was broken, but his spirit refused to yield.

"Damnit, Link. GET UP!" Pipit screamed as he narrowly missed a thrust to his chest. The bokoblins were dumb and easy to overpower in small numbers, but there were just too many of them. The endless combat was wearing out the young knight. One strike burst through Pipit's guard and slashed his cheek open, but he gritted his teeth and hastily countered with a lethal blow to the pig's exposed torso. But that left Pipit off balance and wide open. With an angry grin, a decorated goblin leapt forward with an enormous, grimy cleaver and slashed at the man's side with a sickening crunch. The blow knocked Pipit off his feet and sent him sprawling towards the edge of the ledge. He wheezed as the scorching sulfurous air took its time returning to his lungs. He clutched his throbbing ribs, expecting to feel blood. When his hands came away dry, Pipit was suddenly grateful for the thirty pounds of mail he wore under his tunic.

Pipit scrambled to his feet with a wince as the hog men approached. They snickered and snorted as the huffing knight brandished his sword and shield in a futile display of feigned courage. Eyes darting back and forth over the mass of Bokoblins fanning out in front of him, Pipit felt a wave of panic wash over him. His eyes widened. The stench of decaying flesh and rotten eggs assaulted his nose and he swallowed back the bile rising in his throat.

They were going to kill him.

There were too many. He couldn't fight them all. It was a suicide mission. He was about to be slaughtered at the hands of putrid swine. They laughed as his courage fell away and his shoulders slumped. The tip of his skyloft blade slowly descended towards the ashy dirt. There was no way out.

He was going to die.

"Good luck, Pipit!" Karane's sweet voice called out as she jogged over to him. She had come to see him off for his "required training," and he was glad to have her there calming his nerves. It was pitch black and the night patrol knights were about to change shifts. His loftwing was loaded up and waiting for its flight through the cool darkness. Other than his mother, Karane was the only person he had told about the training. He hadn't expected her to show up as he was leaving, though. "Now don't get so caught up in this training that you forget your promise," she smiled as she poked his left shoulder, emphasizing her point. His mind blanked. Promise? Crap, what did he promise her? He had been so worried about Link that he could not for the life of him remember what she was talking about. Karane didn't seem to notice the confused and slightly panicked look on his face in the darkness because she continued, "I'm so excited to see the hatchlings!"

That's right! The hatchlings! He had stumbled upon a nest the other day and wanted to show her the clumsy little fluff balls. But with the gravity of his missing friend weighing down on him, it was difficult to be excited about such a trivial thing, even if it was for the girl he liked. He put on a smile anyway and nodded. He turned away and looked over his shoulder at the pillar of red light emanating from below the cloud barrier. There was no telling what he would find on the surface. Only the goddesses knew where Link was or if he would even make it back to Skyloft alive.

"Worried about the training?" she asked after a silent pause. He sighed and nodded, not making eye contact as he absent mindedly scratched the back of his neck. Her scarlet hair glinted in the moonlight as she stepped closer. "Don't worry, Pipit. You're one of the best knights in the senior class. I'm sure you'll be-" Karane was cut off as Pipit unexpectedly pulled her into a tight embrace. "Pipit…" she breathed, eyes wide in surprise. He inhaled the scent of her strawberry hair, savoring the warmth of her form against his. He didn't know if he would ever see her again, and he wanted to remember this moment.

Just as suddenly as the embrace had begun, Pipit pulled away. Karane stood in stunned silence as the handsome knight stared at the ground before her feet. "I…," he began, but his loftwing interrupted with a quiet squawk and the ruffling of its feathers. It craned its neck around the corner before looking at its rider, shifting its weight back and forth between its talons. The bird's message was clear: the guards were about to change watch. If he didn't leave now, they would haul him back to the academy, and he would miss his only chance. Pipit nodded to his loftwing and turned to Karane, who had crossed her arms.

"What's going on?" she asked, concern laced in her voice. She was starting to suspect that something was amiss.

"I have to go. I'm sorry," he said as he backed up towards his loftwing. Once he was atop his mount, he called out just loud enough for her to hear, "I'll take you to see the hatchlings when I get back." She nodded, face wrought with confusion and worry. She called something out to him, but his mount had already leapt off the ledge. He couldn't hear her over the rush of the wind in his ears. He would have to ask her about it when he returned.

The Bokoblins pounded the dirt with their weapons, snorting in malicious glee as they slowly marched closer to the Skyloft knight.

"How should we celebrate?" His mother asked, beaming with pride. With the small loftwing statuette clutched in his hand, Pipit and his mother walked from the Goddess statue to her homely cottage. He grinned and ran his thumb over the textured feathers carved into the wood. He had done it. All of the training he and his tawny loftwing had endured together had paid off, and the trophy in his hand was proof of it. Honestly, the winner could have just as easily been one of the other riders; the race was incredibly close. Pipit had dived down seemingly out of nowhere and snagged the statuette at the last second. A moment later, and he would have lost. Nonetheless, he was proud of the stiff, mustard yellow tunic on his torso. It didn't want to lay quite right on him, though. The thick, starched fabric seemed a tad too large on his lean frame. Maybe he'd get it taken in a bit if he scraped up some more rupees, but for now, he would have to make do.

"It will soften up as you wear it," Mallara said, noticing as her son absentmindedly scratched at the collar of his new uniform. "Now, back to the original question." By now, they had arrived home. She flung the door open as she asked, "How about we go grab dinner at the Lumpy Pumpkin?"

A cloud of dust and dirt greeted Pipit as he stepped into their shared home. The grime blanked any and all available surfaces, obscuring them past the point of recognition. For the love of Hylia, had the woman never seen a broom before? Dishes crusted with dried food remnants were piled up in the sink, and Pipit had to fan the airborne dust away from his face as he crossed the small home. Was he leaving footprints again? Yes, those were definitely footprints. Mallara had at least week's worth of cleaning ahead of her. Once more, she had let it go for far too long. She hated cleaning with every fiber of her being and regularly joked that she was going to eventually break down and pay someone to do the dirty work for her, not that they had the money for such extravagance.

Pipit wasn't sure how to respond to his mother's generous offer. They weren't exactly financially blessed. Regularly, his mother made do with less so she could pay Pipit's tuition at the academy, and Pipit lived at home instead of forking over the extra rupees to stay in the dormitories. How could she afford to treat him if she was barely getting by?

"Mom," he answered with a knowing sadness in his voice, "there isn't any bread in the bread box, and the cupboards are empty."

Mallara broke eye contact and stared at the floor. She knew her son was right. They couldn't go. She sighed and uncomfortably fiddled with the mess of curly, brown hair hanging at her shoulders. They had struggled through poverty for more than a decade now. She scrimped and saved every rupee, but with a teenage boy to feed, a mortgage payment due, rising tuition costs, and no other source of income to ease the scarcity, they simply couldn't afford the luxury of eating out.

She pursed her lips together and whispered, "I know. I just…" She trailed off and turned away from her son to stare out the window at the more well-dressed families enjoying the sunny day. The dark inside of the rather empty house oppressed the joy the pair had shared just moments earlier. It stood as a reminder of their meager situation. Their house wasn't filthy because Mallara was lazy. Quite the opposite, actually; she spent every waking moment working at the academy or doing odd jobs to pay the bills, and thus, she was only at home to sleep for a few hours each night. If not for the employee discount on Pipit's tuition, she wouldn't have been able to afford to send him to school at all. The filter of dirt on the windows robbed the incoming sunlight of its cheer, thieving away the warm yellow tones and leaving behind only the listless gray. As she stared longingly out the glass, she relented, "I just wish that I could treat you once in a while."

Pipit stepped closer to his mother and put his hand on her shoulder, turning her away from the longing of a better life. Looking into her somber, blue eyes, he said, "Mom, it's okay. You're doing the best you can, and that's enough for me. It always will be." The sorrow lessened a bit and a small smile curved across her face as she nodded. "Besides," Pipit added with a grin, "I didn't have to pay for this uniform, and the material seems sturdy enough to last me for a while. Now that I'm officially a Skyknight, I'll be able to take night patrol jobs to help pay for my school fees. You won't have to work so hard anymore."

At this, the despondence returned to her eyes. "But Pipit," she said with a sad frown, "you're still just a kid. You shouldn't have to worry about providing for me. That's my responsibility, not yours."

"Even so, you shouldn't have to bear it alone." Mallara's gaze returned to meet her son's. His jaw was set and his eyebrows were raised. His mind was made up, and there would be no telling him otherwise. For a moment, she was no longer gazing up at her son; she was staring at her late husband. He had given her that same look time and time again, as he gently lifted the worries off of her shoulders and placed them onto his own. She did not know how her son had become so much like his father despite being so young when he had died. The tears welling in her eyes threatened to spill over as she silently admired the young man her son was becoming.

Seeing the emotion in his mother's eyes, Pipit pulled her in close for a hug. "We might not have chosen these circumstances, but we're in this together," he quietly declared. They were silent for a moment as Mallara tightly embraced her only son. He was a good head taller than her now. When had that happened?

She pulled away as the embrace ended. "I have a gift for you," she revealed with a gentle smile before she turned to rummage underneath her bed.

"A gift?" Pipit repeated, frustrated that his mother would spend her own food money on a trinket for him. "Not to sound ungrateful, Mom, but we don't have the rupees for gifts. I mean, I appreciate the thought, but-"

"Relax, Pipit," she replied as she waved a hand in dismissal. "I didn't buy this. I saved it for you." With a grunt, she hefted up a small chest. The action puffed up enough dust to make both of them cough and fan the dirt away from their faces again. She brought it over to Pipit and set it on the table beside them. Confused, he looked between the chest and his mother. "Well, go on," she coaxed with a smile. "Open it already."

Inside was a garment of perfectly interwoven metal rings. Pipit pulled it out of the box, unfolded it, and held it up in the light. While it was clearly not new, it had been very well maintained. "Is this…?" he trailed off, glancing back up at his mother with his mouth agape.

"It was your father's chainmail," she replied quietly, awash with nostalgia.

Pipit was flabbergasted. "This…this is incredible, Mom!" he exclaimed. "I didn't realize that you had managed to save it! I had heard the accident was awful, so I assumed that all of his gear was long gone."

Mallara shifted her gaze to the floor again. An uncomfortable silence passed before she explained, "It was the only thing that could be saved." Feeling awkward, Pipit pressed his lips together and nodded slowly. After a moment, he turned his attention back to the mail in his hands, eyes roving over its length, searching for defects or missing links. Mallara snapped out of the painful memory and said, "Try it on. You are about the same size he was, so I think it will fit you."

Pipit quickly shed his stiff tunic and shimmied into the heavy mail hauberk. After once again donning his uniform and buckling his belts in place, he smoothed everything out and gave himself a once-over. With the chainmail underneath, the tunic actually fit quite well. He wouldn't need to have it altered after all. Looking back up at his mother, he asked, "What do you think?"

She was silent. She couldn't stop staring at him. With the entire ensemble on, he looked just like her late husband, freckles and all. Mallara shook her head slightly in disbelief. Tears glistened in her eyes once more. Her bottom lip quivered slightly and her voice cracked as she answered her son.

"Your father would have been so proud."

A pulse of dry heat blasted upwards from the sputtering molten chasm behind him, spewing droplets of molten rock up into the air. Pipit straightened his shoulders as the Bokoblins sauntered closer. The decorated swine from before raised his cleaver to deliver the final blow.

It always rained on days like this.

Three loftwings stood unmoving behind three identical wooden caskets laden with flowers. Their feathers were greasy and unkempt. Their eyes, dull and glazed over, as if life itself had been sucked out of their souls. They hadn't even bothered to clean their talons, and a caked layer of dried blood and mud clung to the exposed skin on their feet. They could have been sculptures if not for the steady rise and fall of their chests and occasional listless blink of their eyes.

All of Skyloft had gathered for the sending of their three beloved knights. Nobody would tell him outright what happened, but he heard the whispers. An accident, they had said. An accident that claimed three of their finest but spared their loftwings. To his left, his mother sobbed openly, wailing for her heart that would never be whole again. Tears streamed down his own young face as he stared at the box housing his father's remains. He barely even heard the priest as he began the sending ceremony. Silently, he prayed that through some miracle, Daddy wasn't gone. No, he was merely sleeping.

He would wake up soon, right?

The priest finished the opening prayer and cleared his throat. When he opened his mouth next, a haunting melody came forth. One that spoke of the beauty of life and the stark sting of death and how it was all part of an unending cycle that was somehow beautiful amidst the pain. Being naught but a young child, Pipit didn't understand how anyone could possibly call death beautiful. It was awful. It was as if someone had reached into his chest and ripped out his heart, leaving behind only an onslaught of pain and a gaping hole. A hole that ate away at him. A hole that had his mind begging to wake up, as if it was some horrible nightmare. A hole that could never be filled again.

"You promised…" Pipit whimpered as the priest sang. "You promised you would teach me how to ride a loftwing…" He trailed off as his throat closed up with a repressed sob. He continued, his shaking voice barely above a whisper, "Who is going to teach me now?"

Hearing the cries of his young heart, his mother knelt down and drew him in for a hug. They clutched each other tightly as they wept, their cries joining the hymn being sung by all of Skyloft. Eventually their sobbing mellowed down to sniffles and whimpers as the priest continued on with the ceremony. Pipit stepped back to rub the salty tears out of his eyes with the back of his fists. Upon opening his eyes once more, his vision settled on another young boy only a year younger than himself. His blonde hair clung to his face in thick, wet tendrils that fell over his eyes.

Link.

They had played often together after school. But while Pipit still had his mother, Link stood alone. The younger boy stared at two of the wooden caskets, too overcome with grief to even move. Why was Link standing alone? He shouldn't be by himself at a time like this. Where were his parents?

Link raised his gaze to meet Pipit's. His blue eyes were puffy and red, just like his own. But looking deeper, Pipit realized that they were hollow with a despair that only an orphan would know.

Link's parents were inside the other two boxes.

Without a word, Pipit left his mother's side and slowly walked over to Link. Neither said anything to the other as the service continued. No words were needed. They were together in their grief. Even if they had both lost someone very dear to them, they were not alone.

The sending drew to a close after a few long minutes. There was silence as the three loftwings stepped over the caskets. One of them—his father's, he realized—waddled over to his mother. It wouldn't make eye contact with her as it nuzzled its cheek against hers. She threw herself into the tawny feathers of its neck, clinging to it as if she would never see it again. The other two shuffled towards Link. The young boy stepped forward to meet them, his face blank and expressionless. He didn't want to feel anymore, and a cold numbness was seeping into him. The two loftwings bent their heads down to Link's level and squawked quietly. He reached a shaking hand out and pressed it lightly into each one's beak. They, in turn, gently nuzzled against him before stepping back and resuming their places behind the wooden caskets.

Soon, Daddy's Loftwing ambled over and gave him the same treatment it had with his mother. He gently scratched at the junction between its hard beak and the feathers of its face. It seemed to sigh and lean into the touch before it turned to join the other two birds.

In unison, they climbed on top of the casket of their respective rider and gripped at the thick ropes tied around it with their talons. The priest, thoroughly soaked from the rain like everyone else present, offered one final prayer. And then the loftwings hefted their casket into the air and slowly flew off into the sky. All of Skyloft watched as the birds and their deceased knights grew distant on the horizon until they vanished from view entirely, never to be seen again. In death, they would soon be reunited with their riders.

One by one, the other Skyloft residents returned to their homes after the somber occasion until it was just Pipit and Link staring off into the horizon. Even Pipit's own mother had left to grieve within the confines of her own home.

A tiny voice to his right jerked him out of his silent sorrow. "Who…who is going to be my hero now?"

Pipit looked down on his young friend, not sure how to respond. In truth, he was asking himself a similar question. Pipit had looked up to his father, idolized him even. Daddy was a Skyknight! The pride of the village! Everyone looked up to him, because he was a hero! But…with Daddy gone, who was going to take care of Mama? When Mama was sick, Daddy always took care of her. Who would do that now?

Link's lower lip quivered and his voice hitched as he continued, "Whenever Groose and his meanie friends picked on me, Daddy or Mommy would always come and save me. Without them, he's just going to beat me up." Link looked up and met Pipit's gaze, his bloodshot eyes full of tears. "Who is going to be my hero now?"

The older boy stared deeply into Link's terrified eyes. He understood the younger boy's pain. That scrawny kid was practically Groose's personal punching bag. Link really was all alone now. He didn't have any siblings, and his home was empty now without his parents. He wouldn't be able to go back there at all; he didn't have the means to take care of himself, considering he was only six years old.

Pipit had to do something. But what could a seven-year-old possibly do in this situation? He couldn't house the poor boy. He didn't have any food to give him, either. Maybe some of the clothes he had grown out of? No, that wouldn't do. Those things may have been nice, but they weren't what Link needed right now. What could Pipit do?

…What would Daddy do in this situation?

All at once, Pipit had an idea. Groose was big…but he was bigger. And older. They might be small, but Pipit's shoulders could carry Link's burdens too. He squared his posture and answered Link with a confident voice, "I will."

Link's eyes went wide. "But…but you're just a kid like me…" he trailed off.

"Heroes can be small too, you know," Pipit replied with a slight smile. He put a hand on Link's shoulder and continued, "Look, if Groose starts picking on you again, I'll come and beat him up! If you need help, I'll be there. We're brothers now, and as the big brother, I promise I will always protect you." Pipit leaned forward and folded his arms before he rearticulated, "Always."

The tears in Link's eyes finally spilled over. Suddenly, he buried his face in Pipit's chest and bawled. In between sobs, Pipit was able to make out one phrase being spoken over and over.

"Thank you."

The filthy cleaver sparked as it collided with the refined metal of Pipit's blade.

"No."

He would not just roll over and die. He had too many people waiting for him. Counting on him. Believing in him. The way out was in sight.

Now was the time to fight.

With an angry shout, Pipit shoved the bokoblin back and kicked it in the sternum, sending it hurtling off the ledge. It screamed in outrage as it descended down towards the molten river below, only to be silenced as the lava encompassed it with a thick plop. Without giving the startled mass of swine a chance to recover, Pipit hurled himself into the putrid mob, attacking with a ferocity he didn't know he was capable of.

He had made a promise, and he intended to keep it.

Author's Notes Part 2:

Like I said, waaaaay longer than I had originally anticipated. I had planned for the memories to be around 2-4 paragraphs each. Yeah, they had a mind of their own and quickly became the majority of the chapter.

Believe it or not, this is about half of what was going to be chapter 2. The other half has become chapter 3, and is just about done. I need to put some finishing touches on it before I post it, but it will be posted much faster than this one was. If I would have posted them together, they would have been more than twice as long as chapter 1. Like, almost 8000 words. It was ridiculous. So I separated them out, which means you all got this update faster. :)

When I first wrote this and chapter 3, I only had a little blurb about what each memory entailed, but I hadn't actually written them. I had to force myself to come back and finish them. They about drove me nuts. I don't know why, but they were really difficult for me to write, specifically the funeral memory. I hope it doesn't seem forced. It was late at night when I finished it, and I just wanted it to be done. I busted out the Karane memory relatively quickly...but it's also by far the shortest of the three. The Wing Ceremony memory seemed to write itself. That one still took about three hours to write (not including editing), but for someone who obsesses over every freaking word that gets put on the page, that's ridiculously fast.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed chapter 2! As usual, if you liked it, let me know. If you didn't like it, still let me know. I want your criticism. I can't grow as a writer if nobody is willing to tell me where I can improve.

Also, if you sign in or create an account, when you review, I can send you a PM and we can have a dialogue. You can also follow so that you get a notification when I update next. That's one of the great things about ffnet. It allows authors and readers to have a back and forth correspondence. You can't do that very well with published works. So leave a review or PM me with your brain-thoughts on this brain-child of mine.

I should probably warn you guys...things get brutal next chapter. I almost rated this as M for violence, in part for what happens next chapter and in part for the following section. So be warned. More violence (and consequently, more Link) in the next chapter.

Thank you for reading! Love love love, friends!

Shnarf