Chapter Text
"Open your eyes."
"Open your eyes, Link."
"Wake up."
--------------------------------------------
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.
--------------------------------------------
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.