[His back feels too light, he thinks, and suddenly, the absence of the Master Sword is profound. Between that and the blizzard, he thinks back a moment to Hebra, and he has the strange urge to look skyward, to seek out the light of a far-off creature, cycling endlessly through the clouds...
... Then it's gone, and he looks back at his strange, quiet companion once more, ferrying him through the storm just as much as the fire cores. Questions take shape in his mind --is this how Zelda feels when thoughts nag at her?-- and suddenly, he has so many that he doesn't even know where to begin. Now is not the time, of course, not when the weather has taken such a dangerous turn. Not when there are people in need of aid. But after a long while, after trudging through the snow in silence for as long as he can possibly stand, he finally blurts it out--]
Who are you?
[--somewhat gracelessly. His tone is more mystified, maybe even awed, rather than intimidated.]
no subject
... Then it's gone, and he looks back at his strange, quiet companion once more, ferrying him through the storm just as much as the fire cores. Questions take shape in his mind --is this how Zelda feels when thoughts nag at her?-- and suddenly, he has so many that he doesn't even know where to begin. Now is not the time, of course, not when the weather has taken such a dangerous turn. Not when there are people in need of aid. But after a long while, after trudging through the snow in silence for as long as he can possibly stand, he finally blurts it out--]
Who are you?
[--somewhat gracelessly. His tone is more mystified, maybe even awed, rather than intimidated.]