AUTHOR'S NOTE: Haha, I know, I'm a loser. Two chapters in one night? INSANITY!

PFFFTT, WHO NEEDS SLEEP ANYWAY.

Sound

Thoughts of you filled my dreams for the few hours I was asleep.

I wonder what you look like now, boy. Have you grown into a handsome young man, just as I imagined? Or have the battles of life ravaged your young mind and body?

Or maybe, as the children of the forest do, you stayed exactly the same.

My yearning to see you has been grossly distorted by my lack of friendship, I know that. Being alone pales when compared to having a friend, even if that friend is just a distant memory. I would rather sanctify you than feel the burning in the pit of my stomach that is telling my I will always be a solitary being.

So long has my mind blocked you out. So long have I tried to forget the pain. I can bare this burden of loss no longer. Mother, father, Ingo . . . now you. Am I destined to lose all those I love? Am I continuously fighting in a futile battle, one that can never be won?

I subconsciously made my way towards the window. Why I did that, I don't think I'll ever know. A force greater than life pulled me towards the small, glass opening, my hands resting on the pane. It was open, but no wind entered the house. I could sense the suns presence just under the horizon. My heart throbbed with seclusion.

I could make out the barn where my horses slept, and the corral in the center where I, along with my Mother, spent many of our days until her untimely death.

My mother . . . what an ironic way that she died. Everyone loved her; Ingo, my father, even the horses adored her. Her voice was that of a celestial being, it attracted all who happened to be in the area. Humans and horses alike were drawn to her liked flies to a lantern. Its quite contradictory that it was a horse that stole her life away. She was kicked in the head; dead in seconds. It was quick and painless, and for that, I am grateful. I don't think I could bare to see her dying slowly of some sickness or of some untreatable wound.

She was also beautiful ,with skin the color of adobe and hair like fire. She was part Gerudo, she confided in me one hot summer under the envelope of night. Her mother had been clearly part Gerudo, with a distinct nose and dark skin, but her father had been an average Hyrulean, with crème skin and an upturned nose.

The radically different genes obviously evened out to create an immensely beautiful, multiracial human being. I don't know if it was just that fact that my mother was one of the few adult females I had seen in my life, or if she really was truly breathtaking.

My father, talon, is Hyrulean just as Ingo. So what does that make me? I have tan skin only a shade lighter than my mother, and red hair - the traits of a Gerudo. I have never met a Gerudo, nor have I heard anything about them other than stories of their thievery from Ingo. I am less Gerudo than my grandmother – whom I've never met – and even less than my mother. This identity crisis had never occurred before, and it would seem unlikely to happed to me at such a grievous chapter of my life. But my mind, like many adolescence before me, attempted to handle pain through distraction.

The sound of heavy boots on grass drew me back from my mulling.

Definitely an exotic sound in the middle of the night, the crunch of dirt beneath leather. This simple sound was enough to sent irregular palpitations of blood through my throbbing veins. My breathing became heavy. I had to idea how to handle a situation like the current; I feared for the animals and silently prayed, for the first time in many years, that the source of noise was Ingo.

The blackness was claustrophobic.

A strange new emotion – adrenaline – electrified my body. Every hair on my cold flesh was standing on end as I watched and waited. What I was waiting for I did not know. A silhouette? Some kind of signal?

A voice.

"I don't understand you . . . . day your listening . . . me . . . next day you . . . ." The voice was that of a female, only an octave higher than what you would imagine. She spoke quickly in a hushed tone, barely audible even at the close range that I expected her to be.

This time, louder: "Why do we even need . . . come here . . . . weren't invited."

I strained my ears; I wanted to hear so badly the reply of the other figure.

"I need to see her."