"This is a real problem, mom," Pipit said looking over the store accounts. "We're still not making enough money to cover our expenses."

"Don't be such a worrier!" His mother cooed reassuringly. "We have plenty of savings."

"We can't live on that forever," the teen protested. Looking back down at the books, he shook his head. "We can't even live on it for another year. Once the next school payment is due, it will burn through nearly everything we have saved up. And I still need to buy my own sword."

"It'll work out, honey."

"But how?" Pipit ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "Money doesn't magically drop from the sky, mom. We have to work for it. But you almost never even bother to open the shop. If I didn't show up after school to keep it running for a few hours in the evening, we'd have nothing coming in at all!"

Mallara ruffled her manicured hand through his hair affectionately before pulling the account books away from the table. "You're such a diligent boy. Why don't we stop for dinner? I'm sure you'll feel better after you've eaten."

"Can we still afford to eat?" Pipit muttered, as she set a plate down in front of him.

She chuckled at the joke, and cheerfully set down her own plate, along with some bread, cheese, and sliced meat. "I didn't feel up to cooking, so it's sandwiches for dinner today."

Pipit silently assembled his sandwich, resigning himself to the fact that his mom was simply not to be depended on to work. Mallara was used to being taken care of. Her parents, Pipit's grandparents, had doted on her back when they were still alive.

And then there was dad. He earned a lot of money with his shop- enough that they were able to depend so heavily on his savings even now, over a year after his disappearance. Harrie had taken care of both of them, had made sure they never lacked. But he, too, was gone.

Now it was up to Pipit. He could never be so derelict a son as to neglect his duty to his own mother.

"Mom, I'm thinking about dropping out of the Knight Academy."

"What?" Mallara looked up, eyebrows raised. "I thought that becoming a knight was your dream!"

"Doesn't matter," Pipit said dully. "The tuition's too expensive, and I'm spending too much time in classes or studying. I should be running dad's shop full-time. Continuing the family business."

"But darling, you've never been interested in business."

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

Mallara stood, coming around the large table to grasp her son's face between her hands. Behind the stoic expression, she could see him struggling to conceal his misery. "It matters," she told him tenderly. "It matters a lot."

Pipit sighed and leaned into her touch. "I don't know what to do," he confessed. "I want to be a knight more than anything- to serve and protect Skyloft, to study its history, to wield a sword with honor."

"To fly around on that big old loftwing?" Mallara added.

"Yes, that too," he agreed. "But the shop..."

"You worry so much about that place." His mother waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Why don't we just sell it?"

"Sell the shop?" Pipit repeated uneasily. It didn't sit well with him, getting rid of something his father had poured his life into.

"Sure," Mallara elaborated, "It's worth a lot of money. You can even use it to pay tuition andbuy your sword and supplies. Isn't that a splendid idea?"

Pipit furrowed his brows. He doubted that the profit of selling the shop could carry him the whole way through knight school. But- if they were careful- it might get him pretty close. It was tempting to try.

Pipit had to choose. He could be a knight, or he could be a shop owner. Not both.

The thought of spending his life peddling goods and chasing after profit depressed him. Even as a young child, Pipit knew he had a higher calling. His father knew it too, and had paid to enroll the boy in Skyloft's Knight Academy.

"No need to follow in my footsteps, son," Harrie had said with a grin, "You go find the Pipit way!"

Pipit reached out and hugged his mom. "Yes," he agreed, "I think it's a great idea."