A/N: I'm not dead.

~~Hello Nasty~~

"The truth is that you're here because you wanted to feel like something you're not: A hero."

-John Konrad

xxx

A cold splash on the back of my neck jolts me back into consciousness. A dense fog envelopes us, but I can tell by the glinting dew droplets and dim light that it's sunrise. I must have nodded off, but Saffron continued in my slumber. I rub her mane fondly, grateful for the respite. My chest is aching something awful and a fetid smell is coming from the bandages on my arm. My nose wrinkles reflexively.

From Ordon it's about ten leagues to the west edge of Faron Forest. I've never ventured to the west edge, wary of the warnings echoed by the elders, but a certain excitement fills me. I've no idea how many leagues we've traveled but I reason we can't be far from the fabled Wildlands.

A twig snaps nearby. I'm instantly on alert, slowing Saffron with a quiet 'whoa girl'. I pull my bow off my back and reach for an arrow, wincing at the strain on my chest. Another snap, the sound of leaves rustling. Something is heading our way.

I nock the arrow and pull back on the string. Pain blossoms from my chest and arm and a soft gasp escapes my lips. I grit my teeth.

A young elk bursts out of the bushes and freezes. Our eyes are locked for a moment, blue on black.

Suddenly I exhale, realizing I was holding my breath. I relax the bowstring and notice my heart is beating a tattoo inside my ribcage. I start to laugh nervously; the elk scampers away. The adrenaline is surging through my veins and I feel my lips spread into a smile as I urge Saffron onward once more.

xxx

I don't know what was running through my head that morning. That it was going to be easy, that I would sail in on golden wings and save the day, I don't know. Perhaps I was simply drunk on this 'adventure', the ink of myths and legends fueling my own desire for greatness.

Whatever I was thinking that morning, by the end of the day I found out something cold and hard.

I was wrong.

xxx

Less than an hour later we reach the forest's edge. The sun is now perched firmly on the horizon, burning away the early morning fog. It's chilly; I can see my breath carried away on a brisk wind. Saffron picks her way through the remnants of forest brush and shrubbery. We're slowly climbing up a gradual incline. The twili had certainly made no effort to cover their tracks. I'm no master tracker but the soft, lush soil practically laid a signed trail for me to read. A long patch of disturbed soil caught my eye — I've seen it many times, when I drag a kill back to the village. I suddenly feel nauseated as the image of Ilia being dragged through the mud is burned into my brain.

The hill plateaus and the horrors racing through my head are replaced by the sprawling vista looming in the distance. A myriad of verdant hues populate the land below; trees of vermilion and burnt orange, massive purple toadstools that stand as tall as houses, flocks of birds circling them, like black cyclones dotting the landscape. A steep descent, nearly a sheer cliff, separates us from the Wildlands below. I'd wager there's an easier way down — the bandit's trail turns north and parallels the bluff — but I don't have time to waste.

I don't know exactly what I was expecting. In my thoughts I had imagined this as a place of death, a hideous wasteland populated by the damned yet the evidence before me seemed to indicate the contrary.

I hopped down from Saffron's back, affectionately scratching her behind her ears. I took the reins in hand, leading her across the plateau, right to the edge.

"I think I have to keep going on my own, girl," I say softly, unstrapping my pack from her and slinging it over my shoulder. "Go back to ..." I trail off, realizing I was about to say Ilia. "Go back to Lyn and Axel," I finish firmly, my resolve hardening. I gesture at the forest, knowing she'll understand.

She whinnies and nuzzles me before turning around and setting off back into the forest. Saffron is one smart horse and I know she'll be absolutely fine.

Now to tackle the task at hand. I'm pretty certain I can pick my way down the rocky bluff but any mistakes will mean I break a lot more than a few ribs, maybe my skull. Yikes. I regret surrendering my rope so easily to the bedpost; perhaps in retrospect I could have devised a less dramatic way of leaving undetected. Hindsight is always twenty twenty.

With a dash of regret and a great sigh (a mistake given my ribs, ouch!) I start to shuffle down the gravelly hillside. It's slow going but my movements are careful and deliberate and progress isn't as slow as I expected. The morning bird chatter from the forest has already faded and the only sounds are that of the wind. A powerful gust nearly blows me over, but I regain my balance and continue my descent.

By mid-morning I'm nearly at the bottom, but one of the major cruxes is still ahead. A sheer cliff of about ten feet is just below me. My right hand aches and the rank bandages need to be changed. I curl my fingers reflexively, wondering if they will hold out for the climb. Only one way to find out.

I crouch down, searching for a foothold. My foot finds a loose piece of shale and I start going over backwards. Waving my arms like a windmill I try to regain my balance but my heavy pack pulls me backwards like a counterweight. The whole world is upside down. I feel the disconcerting sensation of total weightlessness and the world rushes by at a breakneck pace.

xxx

I groan, arching my back in pain. Through the fog of pain I start to laugh; I've really taken a beating since yesterday morning. With a flurry of muttered curses and whispered obscenities I work myself into a sitting position, patting myself down. The bandages on my arm are a mess of gravel and pus and I wince as I tear them off. It's not the first time I've burnt myself; working as a smith has its own perils after all. They don't look too severe but my arm still feels like it's on fire. I pull a canteen of water from my pack. The cool liquid causes a sharp sting as it runs down my arm, but it also helps me to ignore the dull ache emanating from my chest. I dampen a kerchief and use it to help clean the burns.

I'm no expert in first aid but I'm satisfied with my handiwork. I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed that it doesn't get infected. Picking myself up I stow the canteen and heft the pack. I want to turn around right now, but I can't. If not me then it might be days before the city guard mount a rescue mission. By then, it might be too late. Besides, I reflect, even if I wanted to turn back, I don't think I could get back up what I just came down.

I'm already weary from lack of sleep and a new collage of bruises, but I start walking again. One foot after another, I tell myself. Just one step at a time.

The environment is already changing. The shale and stone is becoming a long, bristly grass. It's a strange shade of bluish green, almost teal. I recall what Rusl said at the house yesterday, about the dangers of the Wildlands.

Rusl isn't one to lie or exaggerate, but I've seen no evidence of the professed danger of this place. Right now my surroundings are bare, exposed. Less than a league away lies the beginning of a new forest. But it's a kind of forest I've never seen before. This whole place is alien to me.

The telltale smoke is still rising, but the wind is scattering it, making it difficult to place. All I can tell is that I have a few leagues ahead of me. One step at a time.

xxx

I've been traveling for hours, following the bandits trail. I found it not long after entering the forest. I ran across one of their camps, probably the first smoke I saw, but they had already moved on. It's like they made no attempt at all to conceal their passage. The bush has been hacked away and, in places, burnt away. Stranger still, there's been no sign of any life at all. No bird song, no bugs, nothing. This place is eerie. Even so, I can't be far off. I'm alone and on foot, but they have prisoners in tow.

It's getting late. The sun is dipping low in the west, setting the horizon alight with rich colors. It's a captivating sight. I find it difficult to take in this exotic glamour when I know my home lies not two days east. The two places could not be more different.

My mind is set on rescuing Ilia. It's all I can think about. The chance to be a hero is all I've ever wanted. My father fought the twili once, went from being a simple man to a hero of war. Now is my chance. The excitement is burning just as hot as the anger, and even though I feel a little disgusted with myself, I can't help myself.

A hoot of laughter jolts me back to the present. It's distant, carried by the wind, but I have to be careful. Unslinging my bow and nocking an arrow, I make my way forward carefully. The last rays of sunlight are enough to illuminate the way, but not for long. I can hear more laughing and hollering and it's closer now. My palms are sweaty and a lump has formed in my throat but I swallow my fears and harden my will. I hadn't really considered it before, but like a hammer a thought struck me. I might have to kill someone.

As I make my way up a hill of bristly grass it is now wholly night. I've killed before, but only animals, only for food. This was something I knew since I set out I would have to be prepared to do, but I never gave it proper consideration. Am I really ready to take someone's life? Do I have the right to do that, even people as cruel and twisted as these? Does anyone?

I have no time to dwell on these thoughts; as I crest the hill the firelight below flickers on my face briefly. Immediately I drop to the ground, so wrapped up in my own internal struggle I almost blundered into the bandit camp.

Setting my bow to the side, I crawl forward to get a better look. A large bonfire is roaring in the middle of the camp. Banter and shrieks of laughter rise to meet me. Squinting in the dim light, my unease deepens. I make out at least ten figures around the fire, not all of them human. The three we encountered in Ordon must have been part of a larger group. No wonder they made no effort to hide.

I spot some wheeled cages off to the side and my mouth drops open. There's at least a score of people trapped inside, maybe more. What do they need all those people for? Where are they going? A bottle shatters on one of the cages, thrown by one of the captors, earning a wail from a prisoner.

My lips tighten. I had counted on there only being three, and yet nearly a dozen stand before me. Still, what choice do I have? I can't just go back, abandon my sister and the other village children to their fate. By the sounds of it their captors are drunk, busy with their merrymaking. Perhaps with the element of surprise on my side ...

I reach for my bow but it's not there. Rolling over to look for it, I flinch in surprise.

A horned creature, wearing a bandit mask stands over me, red eyes boring into mine. Hello nasty. I can make out green skin. It has my bow in one hand and a club in the other. It grunts in amusement and shakes the bow, as if to say, "looking for this?"

We lock eyes for a moment. If I could stand up, draw my dagger ... I might be able to overpower it.

I reach for my dagger and move to stand in the same motion, but before I even regain my feet the club swings downward.