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“Do you all know the story of the Headless Horseman?” Wind asked suddenly, banishing the warm silence that had seemed to be so welcome in the camp during this young, yet cold night. The sailor looked between his companions and dead leaves that were falling from the trees above and into the campfire, their colours matching so perfectly he missed the moment they finally became one.
When the awaiting answer or any kind of prompting from the others didn’t come, he decided to take their quiet as a no and continue, “Well, then you’re in luck!” he announced, putting his hands on his hips, “Listen, my dear friends! for the tale I am about to entrust you with is—”
“Er, sorry to interrupt,” Legend cut him off, sounding hardly apologetic, “why are you telling us this? Because I think I’d given you a clear enough implication that I don’t fancy a story right now. Nor will I at any time in the nearest future while we’re at it.”
“Oh, I just thought, you know, this place reminds me of the setting of this story. Who knows, maybe it happened somewhere around here? Better warn you guys beforehand.”
“I certainly doubt it did.” the veteran crossed his arms on his chest and frowned at Wind, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a book I would like to return to.”
“So you’re interested in that story but not Wind’s?” Four’s head popped out from where he was sitting on the opposite end of the log and struck the pantless hero with purple beams of inquisitive gazes, “That’s very interesting.”
Warriors inhaled sharply, his left hand flying up theatrically to cover his opened mouth. Even though this part of his body was now invisible, one could easily tell by the little flames lighting up in the scarf-wearing hero’s eyes that a sly grin was beginning to form on his face. “Wait, Legend, don’t tell me” the attempts to hide his laughter was a complete failure, “Are you scared of a little fairy tale?”
“What?!” Legend blasted, “You’re being ridiculous. Why would I be afraid?”
“It does sound kinda scary though,” Sky interjected, “with the whole… decapitation aspect and all. It’s perfectly fine to feel intimidated by it.” Several heads went up and down in a rhythmic, collective nod. All of them except the Captain’s that was fidgeting, trying his best to contain his growing amusement. Legend was not having it.
“You think you’re so funny, huh? Fine! I’ll give you proof. Bring it on, Sailor!”
Wind’s eyes lit up and the edges of his lips flew up to his ears. But his excitement lasted only for a short while before the boy collected himself and switched to his storyteller mode. Everyone in camp quieted down when he stood up, the air around him changed completely as he claimed a spot on a tree trunk, making himself more visible and his voice easier to spread. His back was straight and face expressionless, the spirit of a fourteen-year-old boy gone from the small body, replaced by a new presence. Someone akin to a traveler, perhaps? The person was giving off a sense of older days and adventures long since passed.
They took a shallow breath, steadying themselves, and inspecting each of their listeners. A wordless demand for attention.
All eyes were focused on them, not a single one trying to escape the binds of the story about to be told. Even the fire was listening, a few leaves’ existences stretched out a little longer as its flames forgot to burn them.
When they were finally pleased with the state of their audience, they made a sound. They cleared their throat one last time and began to speak.
“It started many years ago” their voice was lower and stronger than Wind’s. They spoke slowly and steadily, considering every word that was leaving their throat. The words carried around the camp smoothly, sneaking into every person’s ears and settling inside their brains one by one. “The battle was on. Who was fighting it and for what cause? No one remembers anymore.” they slowed down, closed their eyes and breathed in, as if trying to remember the next part. “There was but one true soldier among the army of cowardy, petty nobles. A good fighter he was, and honest. Loyal to his people above all else. But this loyalty was what brought him his misery.”
The Links looked at each other, curious and anticipating. The storyteller patiently awaited for their attention to be returned to them and when it finally did, they continued.
“The night was cold and windy, Autumn had already decorated nature in her favourite colours. There was also a pumpkin field nearby where the fruit was ripe and big. The soldier and one of his companions were fighting back to back, with their feet buried in the flaming leaves. In one moment, he called his partner’s name. No one answered him.” Warriors swallowed audibly and grabbed on his scarf a little tighter than usual but said nothing. The story carried on without any pauses.
“He called once more, then again, and again but no familiar voice came. ‘My friend might’ve gotten injured or killed!’ he thought, ‘I must see if he’s alright’. He turned around to check on the other, only to be met with a blade to his throat.” Sky gasped in the audience, startling Wild and making the scarred boy jump in place. The Chosen Hero promptly apologised, first to Wild, then to the storyteller. His face reddened, his cheeks started to heat up a little too much for it to be caused by the fire and he tightened his sailcloth on his neck and shoulders. A small nod from inside the safety of the Sun-smelling material was given as the only indication to continue.
“His head flew across the battlefield, but his body remained in place. After the battle was over, other soldiers collected the corpse for the burial but didn’t bother looking for his head, as it had probably been crashed by the horses.
From that day, his ghost emerges from its grave, desperately looking for its head. In the beginning, it picked a pumpkin from the field and is using it as a temporary replacement for the missing part. In revenge for the betrayal it had experienced, it is now riding around on a ghastly warhorse, calling out people’s names. It is said that its voice addressing you will be the last thing you hear before it takes your life.”
With those words, the camp fell silent. The heroes observed as, in a matter of seconds, the strange persona left Wind’s body and his usual smile returned to his face. Their sailor was back with them, he bowed deeply and smiled at his companions.
“So, how did you like my story?” He asked, spying around the campfire.
“It was very interesting.” Time nodded to himself, “I liked it.”
“And how did you like it, Legend?” Warriors leaned towards the veteran with anticipation painted on his face. He decided to ignore the tremble in his own voice.
“It was nice, I guess.” Legend shrugged, “Not scary at all though. See? I’m not afraid of some random ghost story.”
“Oh yeah? I’m not so sure about that” the captain grinned.
“What do you mean?”
“Legend?” a new voice called from behind him, accompanied by a heavy symphony of slowing hooves, and Legend’s blood ran cold in his veins. A shadow was cast on him and he turned around. A massive figure was standing directly in front of him. It had a silhouette of a man mounting a sturdy horse and, if he saw correctly, its head was replaced by a pumpkin.
Legend jumped from his seat with a scream. He skidded across the camp with the speed of a fleeing hare and stopped only before the treeline, Tempered Sword in hand, ready to strike. It wasn’t until bursts of laughter started arriving in his ears that he realised what, or who , he’d actually seen.
Twilight was sitting on Epona’s back, pumpkin in hand, staring in his direction utterly confused. “I, uh, found a wild pumpkin field while scouting and thought I might make y’all some soup? What happened here? Did I miss something?”
Wind beamed at him, “I can tell you!”