4: Saddle

Link had never been good at fastening them.

An impatient whinny sounded behind him, and pointed ears twitched nervously to the sound.

"I'm trying, girl, give me a minute..."

Crouching within the short grass, miles out into the vast wilderness of the Hyrulian plains, steel blue eyes inspected the damage from under furrowed brows. Calloused fingers held the cantle of her saddle in one hand, and suddenly grateful for the dexterity lent to him by the fingerless leather gloves, the boy once again took to the rusted latching with hopes of salvaging it. The longer he had tried, the lower into the grass he'd sunk, until now, he finally found himself sitting in the midst of a conundrum—in fact, he hadn't moved far from where he'd first fallen when the girth had given way.

The bruise was forming far more quickly than any successful ideas.

A frustrated sigh came, and leaning the weight of it against his knee, both hands began their struggle again. He had tried a number of things now. At first, Link had thought to tie the straps in place about Epona's barrel, though for that effort, he had found only that the leather wouldn't hold its knots tightly and that the mare was very nearly capable of rolling her eyes. Next, after a few minutes of brainstorming, the clever boy had seen to his own belt in sacrifice, only to lament for the first time his lithe—and almost skinny—frame; Epona was, to put it politely, a 'thick madame'. Not willing to let the idea pass easily, a quick mangling of the belt buckle entertained the thought of a replacement, though the fit was tight and easier said than done.

In trying to remove the rusted and broken buckle, straining as he pulled in vain to tear the last of it away, his hand slipped to be cut across the knuckles. In a fit of pique, the boy threw his arms up and knocked the saddle away with a damning word he didn't utter often, bringing the abused fingers up to his mouth with a scowl. The metallic tang coated his tongue, and blood drawn, it was clear the saddle had bested him once again.

An amused snort came of his sorrel companion as her eyes followed the rock of the discarded seat, and with a flick of her mane—seemingly as finished with the idea of repair as Link was—she set about grazing nonchalantly.

The boy turned his head to look, blonde bangs feathering atop a sulking frown as his blue gaze tracked the mare over his shoulder. Epona was, quite obviously, not bothered by this turn of events; she held no qualms, it seemed, with his riding without a saddle at all. In fact, if Link were to be honest with himself, he might even have guessed that his fiery friend thought him foolish for placing so much effort into fixing it. Still nursing stinging fingers within the comfort of his mouth, the boy found himself tracing the sleek lines of her form; strong, proud. She was a wild beauty as she had always been, and like so many other days, his mind burned with curiosity for how she came to live at the ranch.

Perhaps she had followed Malon home one summer evening, endeared by the sweetness of her singing voice as the mare wandered far from her mother. Malon's own mother had passed, he recalled, so then Epona may simply have seen a kinship to be forged with the daughter of Talon... Link himself had no mother; had never known her. The strange trio, as odd as the thought was, seemed to be orphans in some respect—she even reminded him of a mother at times, a nurturing creature she was, if a bit testy. When he had been injured in the past, Epona would stay close, quick to alert him to any danger and protective to the point of charging other beasts. When he was tired, she would refuse to carry him onward, as if she knew her protests would halt him to make camp and rest.

She was many things, this horse of his, but he'd never known an animal like her—there was something raw, keen and sharp, within her brown eyes. She went as far as he dared to, without pause or hesitation, across vast deserts and through thick forests without rest. He knew well he had not tamed her, not truly... She was faithful as a friend, not for being owned, or trained.

Somewhere in him, Link almost found the saddle to be an insult to her, as if suggesting she could be harnessed; needed to be restrained in some way in order to comply.

Removing his battered digits from his lips, the boy cast the lump of leather an accusatory glare, a leg kicked out at it for good measure after the trouble it'd caused. Taking his belt in hand he stood, brushing grass blades from the back of his tunic and turning an apologetic look to the sorrel mare.

"Well... I guess that's that, girl." he called with a small sigh, though some relief peppered his tone. "Can't be helped, and we have to be getting on to Castle Town before sundown."

She glanced up at him from her patch, her expression ghosting sarcasm; it was the horse's equivalent of 'I told you so', though with a whip of her tail it softened. She was never one to rub it in when she was right—Link appreciated how forgiving she could be when the mood struck her.

He flashed her a cheeky sort of grin, lopsided and handsome, as his belt was guided through loops to be fastened once again. "I know, I know..." he chuckled, sidling up to her and patting the thick white of her mane. He drew close to her ear to whisper, causing it to twitch with suspicion.

"Listen... Let's just keep this whole thing between us. You know Malon would never let me live it down..." came the whisper, a little more desperate than he'd like. "There'll be a carrot in it for you. Freshest, biggest, juiciest in the markets. Promise."

After a stubborn moment, as the mare was not usually one to accept a bribe, he felt her lean ever so slightly toward him—her way of agreeing, he knew, and his grin doubled. He took an arm to hook about her, a small jump required before Link could get his leg over, but Epona was steady to accommodate him. A final glance was sent in the direction of the abandoned saddle, though the sharp neigh he received was warning enough to forget about it as the mare took off into a spirited gallop. She had decided to waste no more time, it seemed, now that a carrot was involved.

As the wind caught his hair, Link twisted fingers into her mane fondly, and realised that although the sensation may have been a little rough, it was as natural and wild as she was at heart. She was one of a kind, born of these plains, and cared not for whether she wore a saddle...

Epona would carry him to the ends of the Earth, regardless, simply because she cared enough to do so.