Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Open your eyes."

"Open your eyes, Link."

"Wake up."

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Nature beared down on him like a living thing; an energy with eyes, ears, and a soul. Sometimes, he felt part of it, and others, an outsider. While his brethren in the forest, plains, and snow capped landscapes wore common furs, horns, and leaves - he was a different beast. The only other being with this same mold was strange and old, with eyes that knew too much. When he first left his birthplace and looked on into the world, he saw nature and harmony. He saw a beauty he wished to possess, to emulate; and a new love for it blossomed. He gathered and tasted food. Fruits, nuts, and shrooms were deemed delicious, and the love grew. He looked at every rock and tree for the uniqueness it cradled, and his love grew. He kept going with lightening steps, joy springing up like a geyser and gliding in clouds, like soft rain.

This was until he saw The Man. He had not seen his reflection. He knew he belonged to nature as he was born in it. But this man - this thing - was different. He wore cloth instead of fur, and no horn protruded from his head as he sat in his den, beneath an overhanging rock. His tools sat near him. Link (the voice had said) felt eyes and an invisible, hopeful anticipation coming from the man. A predator, he decided. Like the wolves and the hares, like the birds and the worms. A predator, and an intruder, he decided.

He stayed away from that man.

Trouble, without fur, and claws, and horns, and leaves.

Trouble.

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The more he wandered, the more the old man frightened him. There were no others like him and the old man, and the sheer cliffs that kept them there looked impossible to climb. Why was he there? Why did Link feel a new pair of eyes on him everywhere he went? Paranoia was caused by the old man and not the wolves. His worst day was seeing his reflection. His worst days were realizing he was not of the wild. The old man was cruel.

He learned from the wild. On a solitude morning, he sung the bird's song. His voice sounded scratched and weak, but the birds didn't mind and neither did he. One day he joined a pack of wolves in their conquest, and he hunted like they did; their journey was fruitful and this day was not the last of its type. Climbing became his favorite sport, and just making it to the next ledge was his game. He learned the language of storms, the scent of rain, and the feeling of lightning - he learned to hide before the clouds came, and to stop climbing before he fell. hiding the strange slate beneath his thin clothes was difficult, but worth it once he stopped getting looks, like everyone but him could smell something distasteful on his person. Hunting became easier. Slowly and naturally, he shifted his pose to that of a beast: sometimes crouched over, mostly on hands and knees. He learned how to avoid most real danger. The sun rose and fell, and the only danger he could not escape was the old man.

It was a while before he realized. Through trial and error he realized the meat had to be cooked. Through trial and error he found ways to brave the cold of the mountains. Through trial and error, his birthplace became his home, and supplies gathered on the ground increasingly (the old man was just outside, waiting). The animals knew him and the old man didn't. This was victory.

It took a while for him to realize the old man avoided but one thing. His mind usually supplies names and strange sounds to things. Sounds that could not reach his lips or be understood outside his head. He called the wolves 'wolves' because his mind supplied it. He called himself 'he' because his mind supplied it. His mind supplied the man's bane: 'monsters'. But Link knew this was not the proper name, and he refused to use anything but, despite not being given one. Besides, anything that could scare off that man must be worthy of respect. He started staying closer to them, and the eyes he felt on him receded at times. They became his safety and solace. He followed them near constantly and helped in the shadows (he was repaying his debt). He continued to explore the great beauty.

One day the strange slate found it's purpose. One touch, one warning, and he was stranded on a tower. The old man approached him, gliding down from seemingly nowhere, hanging onto wood and cloth. Sounds came out of his mouth he didn't know (should he have?), and he couldn't run. Familiarity itched at the back of his mind, and he could almost make out symbols, almost. But nonsense remained nonsense.

Fear gripped him. Squeezed his heart, and didn't let go. He had evaded this man for so long, and even found a haven, but his love (and he refused to truly blame it, he would never give it up) might just get him killed.

All of a sudden, like his body remembered the protocol for fear: Danger. Danger. Danger. Danger. Danger. No. No. No. No. No. His mind blanked out. Nonsense and noise filled it. He reached for something he didn't have, as memories burst up. Distantly, he heard the man laugh (laughter...), and his muscles were screaming to run.

When the old man left, and Link climbed down, relief in his heart, the man was still there. Still there (why was he HERE), at the bottom of that stupid tower. Still making noise, and pointing at things (he wants something from me). He was stuck in place from fear until the man left (the same fear. His face must be stone to hold back this fear). He ran to his solace. An idea forming.

This man's bane was his happiness.

Chapter Text

Link loves plans, and the way one devious spark can cause a whole well of destruction. He loves the adrenaline from running, and the giddy feeling of playing with fire (his beloved). Said plans usually get the job done with varying degrees of success and pyromania. He doesn’t know if he would exactly call it making a name for himself, but the forest seemed to have formed a correlation. At times, it even seemed like the animals stayed away from the old man more than usual when there was fire around. As if fire was just their type’s new evolution. He was so very proud when he found out. He couldn’t stop cackling for a day straight when he noticed. Now he doesn't go anywhere without flint, wood, and spicy peppers. 

This also naturally led to his fascination with the ‘guardians’, also known as the beautiful beings that shot (concentrated) fire at you. Just his type. He thought, “if only they just stopped attacking me on sight, we would get along swimmingly!” 

Sometimes he wonders if he can fix one of the dead ones. Their guts looked a lot different from what normal guts did; less damaged too. Either way, a friend with a fire-shooting-eye sounds like music to his ears. He keeps a pile of their special guts just in case.

The problem is that all of that doesn’t help when you’re trying to not cause damage. Once the plan requires being peaceful, he is lost. It’s not like he can’t be peaceful or make friends, he just doesn't know how besides blazing through and hoping for the best. (Sometimes he sees an image in his mind: a radiant woman so kind, smart, and thoughtful that all of the country felt utter adoration at the sight of her. The image would always fade much too fast). Then again, you can’t really blame him when there's a new communication barrier around every corner. 

Thanks to this, his many meetings were very… interesting. The birds like him because he let them make a nest in his hair when there was a forest fire. The rabbits started tolerating him after he started giving them all of his hylian shrooms. And the wolves… is something he doesn't like to think about. He wasn't entirely sure he knew what he was going to do. 

From what he knows, they are very territorial. If anything, wolf, rabbit, or even one of their own kind, came too close, they would and will start a war. Even before he started calling their kind The Man’s Bane, he would put markers to remind himself of where their territory ended and where free-reign began. No one wanted to be a part of the ensuing scuffle if you didn’t remember. If he doesn't do this right, he could very well be doomed. To be safe, he started out with the Rabbit Protocol: food offerings. 

He’s noticed they mostly eat meat, but can and will eat other things when they are desperate. Good for him, since meat is really scarce. Maybe there used to be more sources of meat besides the precious rare few rabbits, deer, boars, and birds, but Link wasn’t present for that. He himself doesn’t have much to worry about, since he can sustain himself on other things, but if Nature wants to feed it’s children someone has to survive. He’s already noticed the downturn in prey since the wolves started giving the rabbits peace offerings so they could grow in numbers. If this continues… no, nature will bounce back. It just needs time. 

He started with shrooms and apples. While the group hunted for ever decreasing game, Link would leave his offerings next to the fire they used for cooking. Each day they would come back to their camp and find the gift from their mysterious sender; without game but not without food. Sometimes Link left in fish and his prized spicy peppers. Overtime, he became accustomed to what was poisonous to them (sweet things: no fruits or honey allowed) and what wasn’t. Eventually he knew their eating schedules, what events would stop them from eating (only the injured ate), the amount of food they all needed (he never had to feed anyone but himself), and he swore he was starting to get a gauge on individual likes. Funnily enough, it was going better than the rabbits. Link was pretty sure they weren’t meant to try and scratch you apart.

This went on, until one day Link woke up with a bang, like something big was slammed down hard. Launching off the floor as fast as possible, Link raced to the door; almost jumping up the mini cliff that was half way through. As soon as he got close he saw what caused the noise. The remains of a destroyed barrel was smattered on the ground, and in the center of the wreckage laid a pile of coal, wood, and arrows. 

Despite not knowing the sender, he got quickly distracted by the gifts. Coal was a pain to find and mine at times, and running out was the equivalent of setting no fires for a week straight. Collecting wood either took an afternoon of collecting stray branches, which seemed to never want to leave the tree, or the adventure of sneaking around The Man and trying to steal one of his axes. He had been getting dangerously close to a restock, and he couldn't help feeling incredibly happy to whoever had to go through the trouble.

On the other hand the arrows… he doesn't even own a bow. His last one broke, and his attempts at making his own weren't anywhere near usable. But, who left them? The only people strong enough here to lift a barrel, throw it, and break it like that are him, The Man, the stone talus, and… IT WORKED! It could only have been them. But does this mean they’re trading now?

If they're helping him now, should he put more effort in? Are their trades even equal? Coal can be very hard to get. He should give them something more too, but what? He’s already giving them food. They can make their own weapons, and they can protect themselves. What can he even give? Amber, rupees, pots from the temple… he ran back inside and started searching through his collection: arrows, food, more food, guts, guardian guts, weapons for days, animal pelts. Animal pelts! That'd work - they use animal pelts for clothes all the time. 

He started gathering his trade: fish, herbs, spicy herbs, mushroom, and deer hide. It is rich compared to his other trades, but this is an occasion to celebrate. He’s one step closer to his goal. One step closer to bring rid of his fear.

As stealthily as he could, he practically skipped there. The sun seemed brighter, the birds sweeter, and the ground greener. The smell of grass seemed thicker, and bees buzzed among herbs and flowers; constant the backdrop of a symphony. He took even more detours than usual - a feat - as Link enjoyed the scenery. When he finally made it to his destination, it was midday. 

The camp he went to, like everyday, was situated on the side of a lake and deep in the woods. What was not like everyday, was that nobody was hunting. 

It was an awkward couple of seconds between Link coming out of the trees, making eye-contact with everyone in the camp, and running away, but he managed. He heard multiple disturbed yells behind him while he ran, before the yells became louder and louder. Launching himself forward as fast as possible, he almost tripped to a stop when he saw the looming cliff in front of him. 

Can I climb that?

More yells. Closer, much closer… Oh no.

Thunk!

Thud

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Link woke up on the ground, sore all over and throbbing in his skull. A hiss escaped his lips as he twisted his body and tried to ignore the pain from old scars he didn’t remember, paying attention to the way light was too bright instead. Voices he didn’t understand were arguing above him. Loud. Loud. Loud. 

Light started to settle, and his vision started to refocus as he blinked furiously and fought back a headache. Three of The Man’s Bane were crowded around him, making it difficult to see past them. They were talking over each other loudly - making it near impossible to think - as they flung their arms around madly and pointed at him. The pain in his head was getting worse every second; can't they see I'm awake? 

A yell came from above him as he started closing his eyes again. As the wind blew past his ears, he focused on drumming his fingers in the dewy grass in an attempt to ignore the pain. Da, da, da. He loosened his muscles, one at a time, and sunk into the forest floor like dead weight. He paid attention to the way bugs brushed up against him, and the way his fingers got colder and colder in the wet grass, soothing his mind. He started humming in his tranquility, as soft as-

A red hand suddenly lifted up his eyelid, and the owner let out a piercing screech - undoing all of his hard work and reminding him of the way his scars pulled, and of the stiffness that remained in his limbs. At least the screech sounded… happy? Some answering screeches came back. Before Link could try and comprehend what was happening, a Blue Bane came by, making noises and pointing at each other, then him. 

Was this about their trading? All four of the Banes looked at him with curiosity, like they expected an answer. Well… saying no never helped him before when making friends. He made a noise that, he hoped, sounded like agreement.

Five long sticks and a pile of tinder were thrown at him almost immediately. What was that for-! 

Oh, oh.

It’s fine, he can adapt - Bird Protocol: Help build a home. 

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It was strange, as he and a Man’s Bane drove all four sticks in the ground. And it was strange as they carefully speared all of the food on the spit, and strange as Link removed the bones of the fish as best he could. When the campfire was finally up and burning with Link's gifts placed on a spit above, Link was helping to prepare the deer hide he brought to be used as a tarp. Even a couple hours later, he was still trying to process what might have been him joining the Man’s Bane. 

He’s never lived with anyone before -(Childish laughter, a little too familiar, bubbled up and)- and he definitely didn’t know how to do it with four people he didn’t understand. He felt subconscious, and a little embarrassed for every mistake he made while he prepared the hide. Every time his partner had to correct him, he wanted to hide his face. He wasn’t used to the feeling, and he almost tried to push it away like it was a physical thing several times. He picked on the skin of his lips instead, accidentally tearing it off occasionally. His partner however couldn’t seem less bothered, and instead made sounds jovially, clearly trying to talk to him.

This continued for hours more. As they put the hide away for another day, ate food, and did weapon maintenance, they all chatted away with each other. Link had never had a chance to feel left out, but here he was. He couldn’t help but wonder, What had he missed? It had been hours of them just talking and having fun while Link looked inward on the sidelines. It… hurt. 

He kept thinking about it while he was shown where he could sleep - a place safely in viewing distance of the watchtower - and the feeling of it all still in his gut. He kept thinking about it in bed while everyone but the person on watch slept. He dreamt of talking with them, and knowing what they said. It seemed nice. It hurt when he woke up. 

Chapter Text

The next couple of days were very interesting for Link. He had a long history of expectation versus reality when it came to his companions. Far away, wolves were untouchable terrors, but close up they had seeds in their fur and protection for their family. The rabbits seemed skittish and scared to death of him at first, but after some warming up they seemed frankly chatty. The birds looked fragile, but this could easily be disproved by the pecking (oh, the pecking). He realized, as he woke up with a start, that he had made assumptions about the Man’s Bane as well.

With their colorful red and blue skin, bright eyes, large ears, and hunched posture: Link had assumed their territorial nature, solitary look, and their ability to scare off the Man were their only features. But, looking back, this couldn't be further from the truth. They took him in with open arms despite only one encounter face to face. His partner was chatty and comfortable in his presence, despite Link never talking back. The one on the watchtower protected him while he slept - as if he were one of their own. They fed him after only one day. No questions asked. It reminded him of something like an itch in the back of his mind, but he ignored the feeling. It was probably nothing.

As the day started up he looked around, trying to acknowledge all of them and their personalities. But he barely knew any of them, only noticing his partner and the Bane with blue skin. He'd keep trying until he recognized all of them easily, he vowed.

Tasks were delegated much the same way as yesterday, and he and his partner were quickly sent back to cleaning and preparing the hide. The final touches were fast and easy as they scraped off any stray fat from yesterday. After the deer hide was fully scraped of fat and meat, his partner from yesterday helped show Link how to make a sturdy rope. Later as the sun climbed ever higher, they tied their hide to a tree and let it soak in a nearby creek while Link went off to forage.

Occasionally, Link would see the hunting party in the distance as he picked up shrooms and herbs. All together there were five of them now instead of just Link, and his pockets were not bottomless. When his arms were full, he estimated that three of them would be able to eat off of it. Surely there might be ways to carry all of this… maybe he could use some of that hide - if there was spare from the tarp maybe…

The slate started to slip beneath his clothes, and Link took it as an excuse to rearrange the food in his arms to maybe get more space. He crouched, and quickly laid the slate down on the grass before letting his bounty fall. Just as he was about to put the slate securely away, one of the shrooms - as if in slow motion - fell into the slate.

As if turning alive, parts of the slab turned glowing blue like fireflies, a rectangle in the middle the brightest of it all. Organized scribbles started forming on its front, with an image of the shroom he gathered in the smack-dab center. Slowly, Link put his hand over the image of a hylian shroom, slowly lowered it inside (inside?!), closed his eyes, grabbed, and pulled. When he opened his eyes, he held a hylian shroom; still with dirt on it and slightly warm from the morning sun.

That… works…

Link sprung up and started happily putting things into the weird slate: shrooms, apples, nuts, herbs, rocks, even sticks. This thing would be really helpful for hunting fish, he thought.

Immediately, Link sped off to his favorite fishing spot, a giddy feeling rising in him. He didn't think as he ran up to the edge and dived into the waters. Or as he propelled himself to a gaggle of fish, grabbing an especially slippery one in record time. He didn't even lend a thought as he slammed the fish into the slate, diving for more in the next breath.

The panic as he realized he was getting tired, and as he scrambled to get on solid ground, barely tarnished his excitement and his wish to experiment. He ran off to the mountains next. He was so excited he could hardly feel the strain on his legs, and multiple times he fell down after misjudging his stamina.

The things he collected at the mountains were usually freezing cold, and a pain to carry around until he could set them down safely in his birth place to warm up. As he went through the gates, he could hardly contain his excitement as he unceremoniously dropped his pick of berries, peppers, and small pieces of flint - so small he normally wouldn't bother - into the slate. Fingers still warm, his opinion of the strange slab-like rock was going far, far up.

It was as he started speeding towards the home of the guardians, wind in his hair, that he was picked up by the scruff (like a wolf with their pup). Some instinct screamed at him to hide the slate, and he hurried to follow. When Link looked back he saw a distressed member of the camp. Link wasn’t the best at reading people since he had nobody to practice on, but even he could tell that the one holding him was questioning a lot of their choices.

As Link was walked back to camp, never once being put down, he listened to the red Bane yell at him. Whatever it was (it seemed important?) Link was blissfully unaware. Instead, he thought out the other things the magic slate could become useful for (Can a fire stay lit? Stealth would be much easier…). By the time he got back to the Man’s Banes’ camp, he was stocked for days; with supplies and ideas.

—

After a few days, a routine clicked into place. Him and his partner would check the hide to see if it was still tethered to the tree. They would quickly double check if the knot was firmly in place and sturdy. After that was done, Link went on his daily foraging trip (with the added help of the slate), and he tried his best to stay on track. It was hard, when Link’s usual method was scurrying all across the plateau and coming back with armfulls of what he wasn’t supposed to get, but he managed (somehow, and with suspiciously more crickets than last time).

The hunting party would be out around the same time, with spears and bows, patrolling the little forest space they had for game. Sometimes Link would bring back fish, and sometimes the hunting party would bring back birds. And on rare, lucky nights, the party would bring back boar. Once the fire had started, he and his partner would make the archer new arrows if they lost or broke any. As they worked, the smells from the fire each night was hypnotizing. And Link couldn’t help but wonder how their cook could turn their simple ingredients into something so mesmerizing.

It was understandably a shock than when this routine was broken and a rough spear was handed to him, instead.

It was just around mid-morning when they marched out. Link felt extremely awkward walking beside them, suddenly not knowing how to hold the spear in his hand and feeling like everyone around him knew it.

The hunting went largely as it usual - at least as much as Link could tell - with mostly just birds and rabbits puttering around. The people with spears were mostly trying to sneak up on a rabbit or, if they were really lucky, a boar. Hunting a boar was heavily desired for very simple reasons: a lot more food, and once it’s dead, a lot less of a threat. Hunting with a spear for birds and rabbits is really difficult, nearly impossible in many cases, so really their main job was to hunt boars.

The archer stayed behind largely and was the one who picked up the most game. Link couldn’t tell why, but the archer seemed to try to stay away from any actual fights with a predator. Staying away from predators and protecting camp seemed to coincide happily for the archer though, so staying away and close to camp was what happened.

Archer or not, boar or not, the day went on. As they hunted, the hard task left him fumbling in a way that Link could strangely tell they were really not used to it. A voice in their head whispering that they were too slow, too loud, too stupid for not picking it up fast enough. It didn’t really sound like Link, but it felt like it was him. Link felt… he didn’t know. Beaten maybe. Like a newborn fawn, stumbling around.

The feeling made it hard for Link to notice the others hadn’t had any luck either, or that the chance of spearing a rabbit was tricky regardless of skill. Instead, as the sky turned dark and they were making their way to camp, Link was walking slowly in the back, dragging his feet depressedly. Even when his partner seemingly noticed and tried to cheer them up, Link couldn’t feel any better. None of the things that would usually make him smile or laugh worked, and in some small way, it made him a little sadder. At some point, his partner had given up and instead taken his hand into theirs for comfort.

It was like this when something large shot out of the dark and crashed into Link's partner. Their grunt of pain and the strangled shout Link let out when he saw his partner collapse must have alerted the others because before long they and Link were surrounded. As one of them checked for damage, they made a sound and gesture that Link had come to connect with boars. Did that mean… that a boar hit his partner. The thought raised a fierce protective thing inside of Link, and before long they had shot up with spear ready in hand looking out into the dark for the beast.

Quickly, one of the hunters helped Link’s partner stand and they walked as fast as they could to camp; which was thankfully close by at this point. The others made sounds and gestures while slowly moving towards the direction the boar went, which Link took to mean they were hunting the attacker and followed with a deep determination.

The landscape became even darker as they searched. At some point, Link found a bank of water and stopped to take a small breather. It was too dark to see much more than a tree or two ahead of them and the water in front of Link looked like some inky black pool, like an extension of the night sky that swallowed all light.

The archer is an excellent marksman and has a good eye in the dark from all that time guardian camp at night. If there was anyone that could help them hunt the boar, it’d be them, but they weren’t here. They were guarding camp and the other Banes. As far as they were out, there was no way the Bane could help them.

It was just as Link finally turned to continue the search that they saw the boar was right behind them, charging straight for them. Between a moment and the next, Link was rammed into hard - the blossoming pain in his right hip and thigh taking over his thoughts. His feet leaving the ground-

As Link shattered the still surface of the water, he was shocked in some hazy place between numbness and alertness. Cold water burned near his head. There was a strange aching where the boar had just hit him. The yells of the hunting party changed shape into something scarily familiar, as he felt his hair curl around him in slow motion; into some soft, feathery pattern.

“Link!” “Link!” “Help! Where’s my son!” “are'nt you a soldier! Why can’t you help!” “Brother!”

Memories of rivers, foggy forests, and talking trees. Little sprouts and grandfather oaks. His hand curled around something-

His head broke the surface. An arm around his back kept him moored as the voices faded from reality, into illusion, and then memory. His lungs burned, and when his feet finally met ground he threw up his last meal and then some. A hand kept slapping his back as he coughed up the last of the water, and he was given a few minutes to catch his breath before he was dragged to his feet.

—

As soon as the hunting party got back and everyone knew about the situation, the group was immediately accosted by the archer. The only person who wasn't tired or exasperated was his hide-partner, who was wheezing where no one could hear, seemingly finding the archer’s reaction terribly funny.

They kept at it for a long time. So long, Link gave up feigning attention and instead went back to his earlier discoveries. Thoughts of the voices he heard, both throughout the day and while they were drowning, plagued them. None of it made sense. It was… hard to articulate. But Link was so certain they had been born recently. That this was all they had known. And now, it was like they had lived a completely other life. Who were those people? What were they saying?

By the time he came back to attention the sky was a magnificent orange and pink. Multiple hands were being waved in front of his face with adjacent cries of alarm. More yelling, a single yell, silence, and…

Something told Link they figured out he couldn’t talk. You know, instead of not just incredibly quiet. The blue bane grabbed him the same way he was brought into camp, sat him down by the fire, and started talking to him much, much slower.

—

It was hard at first. They would point at something and make a sound - sometimes using their hands too - and they would make Link repeat it (Link learned the word for repeat early). They made sure Link did the hand gestures, sometimes positioning the rest of his body as well, and they would correct the way he made the sound too. Sometimes he felt like a babbling newborn who couldn't even crawl, and for a moment a distant voice in his head would call him weak (something he knew had less to do with his language attempts). But he would ignore it, and purposefully make more and more wrong noises that made his family laugh.

At night, they taught him how to ask for food and water. How to say please, and how to show you were grateful. He started to notice that some hand and arm gestures were the same between words, and the connections it made.

It was much easier for Link to parse out and get along with everyone once he got the hang of basic conversation. It took a bit to ease in. Though mostly invisible, there seemed to be some hesitations on taking some random person in. But after a little while, he managed to build up a rapport with all four of them.

—

“‘Spirit’, help me,” Elder called from below the tree he had climbed. Link (Spirit?) positioned himself to free up his hands.

“With - what.” His words were still stiff and slow, but he was learning.

“Help me shape my new spear,” Elder picked up a large stick of wood - rough and still lacking a lot of the bones and horns that would make it much more deadly - and jabbed it upwards. As though they were shewing a bird out of a tree.

“I'm going,” Elder shot him a look as he mixed up his words, but didn't say anything. They were always bad at hiding their thoughts.

“Well come then. Burgra wants to know why you got those apples again.” They started walking away as Link climbed down. Not waiting for them to catch up.

—

The names were something Link (spirit?) could understand easily. They always described the person in some way. Something integral to them or some inside joke. And the gestures that went along with it were always unique, and if he were to be honest, his favorite part. It was always a nice, small way to add a little personal flair to the conversation.

His partner was a good craftsman and was called “wood-smith” because of it. The Blue Bane was jokingly called “Elder” because they were the oldest (though wood-smith says they used to be called sea-legged). The Bane on the watchtower was called “wind”, and the cook was called “Burgra”, a shortened version of the name of a mushroom, since it was one of the ingredients they used most often when preparing food. It was a mushroom that part of his brain declared was inedible. which made sense since every time he had it it made him feel a little nauseous and gave him headaches for days afterwards. However, it also tasted good, so he ignored that part of his brain, and still ate it.

The gestures they used were very basic. Debarking a stick for wood-smith. Letting loose an arrow for Wind. Burgra’s looked like you were rotating a spit close to your stomach, and Elder looked like you were rowing a boat (“what’s a boat?” “It's like a raft, but way bigger… I think”). It made sense. If he knew someone who was obsessed with rocks he’d also call them “rock guy”.

This was all well and good with him. And he followed it well enough for a little while. It was when Link forgot Elder’s gesture, and instead substituted leaning on a cane, then it all went south.

“Who?” Burgra said.

“You know.” Link added sound effects, put a hand to his back as if he were hurt, and leaned on the invisible cane more. Burgra - a person who rarely laughed - full belly lost it.

“And me?” By then Link was laughing too. He started with the regular rotating pose, but then he made a ‘thinking face’. He pulled out fake seasoning, and sprinkled some onto his masterpiece, before tearing off a piece of non-existent meat and taking a bite. Chewing a little, he ‘hmm’ -ed and made a face of exaggerated satisfaction.

Burgra was working back into semi-controlled chuckles, “aren't you forgetting something?” what do they- oh, he forgot to say the actual name!

“Burgra!!” With the laughter Burgra was producing Link started to get worried that they couldn't breathe, or maybe that they were a different person who snuck in.

After that, all hell breaks loose. They usually stayed the same, but every now and again when things were calm Link would find himself watching Burgra asking for firewood in a full performance of making a bow and arrow (including what Link could only guess is the most bastardized version of sanding wood ever conceived based off of Wind’s reaction).

A few days in and they have a competition to see who can be the most dramatic and specific when doing Wood-shith’s. Elder became the reigning champion after they perfectly imitated Wood-smith steaming and bending wood.

Much to Elder’s Chagrin, everyone took Link’s performance and ran with it. Link had no idea how old Elder actually was, nor did he know bigger numbers yet, but from the way everyone acted you'd think they were older than the sun. Either way, Link couldn't tell the difference in age between any of them. At least visually - they all looked the same to him besides a difference in color. Sometimes Link had the inkling that they were joking that Link even thought Elder was that old, but even then that only made him more curious to find out the truth. He was on the edge of just running up to someone and demanding an answer.

All of this might have been the reason he was so shocked when he got a name for himself. He never really imagined he'd get one (maybe he just thought ‘Link’ sounded right) and he certainly never imagined he’d get one like “Spirit”. After a while, Link’s curiosity won out. He finally asked why they called him “Spirit”, and why they would hand puppet wings.

“You have a lot of spirit. At this point, the only thing stopping you is your lack of wings.” Wind went back to stringing and refining Spirit’s new bow after that.

—

Spirit was chipping away at some horns to make them more uniform for the spear, half listening to Elder and Wood-smith’s chatter, when he finally realized.

“I understand you.” It was a momentous occasion. He had never… he never knew what the wolves, or the rabbits, or the birds were saying, and they were his first companions. It's nice to finally understand what someone he cares about is saying.

“Really?” Burgra called out from where they were splitting wood.

“Yes,” he called back a little breathlessly.

“Finally…”

…

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW IRRESPONSIBLE AND DANGEROUS THAT WAS!! WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU GO AFTER THE-!” Burgra’s signs got bigger and bigger, and Spirit couldn't help but smile.