Chapter Text
He wakes again a little after dawn, later than has become his habit and with a crick in his neck from sleeping with his head turned on an angle. Revali is gone, and the chick as well; Link can hear its little peeps lifting from down below, and Revali’s answering croon.
He ought to get up. Instead, he rolls onto his side. One hand lifts towards his chest. In the glow of morning, that moment in the dead of night feels like a distant, half-wrought dream. Perhaps he imagined it.
Link stares at a whorl in the wood and decides, with the careful solemnity of someone who knows full well they’re lying, that he must have imagined it.
And indeed, when he makes his way down from the loft to join Revali and the chick next to the freshly-stoked fire outside, Revali gives no indication that anything unusual had transpired last night. That makes it all the easier for Link to settle into the pretence.
It isn't long before the chick's chirps turn towards hunger, jarring them both out of complacency and back into action. Revali passes the chick across to Link before setting out in search of hunting. He flies due south; Link watches him go. The early morning light catches on his feathers like an afterimage as he angles into a steep dive, plunging into the rift of the Tamio.
Lacking in other options, Link settles in to wait. He has enough time to get the chick swaddled against his chest, keeping it warm in the absence of what it truly wants — food — and is just in the process of picking fragments of straw out of his hair when Revali returns, a fish trailing from his talons.
Revali pretends to be taken aback at the sight of Link attacking his hair: "Oh, you do have a comb," he says in a tone of affected surprise.
Link snorts at the criticism, which is mild compared to the scorn Revali used to aim his way, and continues working his comb through the knots that have formed near the base of his skull. Revali might only be teasing him, but the truth is he's dying for a proper bath. Alas, that's a distant prospect—literally, if considering that the Tamio is the deepest source of water for some miles, and climbing back up the cliffs would undo the whole purpose. Link resigns himself to these incomplete efforts. At least the skies to the north promise rain later.
While Revali prepares the fish, and Link feeds the chick with the scraps Revali portions off for it, Link's thoughts turn toward the coming days.
There’s little he can do, for the time being; this time, Revali is the one who has the greater share of the action, and in an inversion of the chick's earliest days, now Link is the one tied to it. Fortunately, the chick is already a lot bigger than it was at its hatching, and its down, while still sparse and patchy in places, does a better job at retaining warmth than its natal feathers, to the point that Link's body heat — which wasn't quite sufficient in those earliest hours of its life — is enough to keep it safe and warm now. During daylight, at least. Night is a different prospect.
The rain catches them by midmorning, driving them all indoors. Revali claims custody of the chick and retreats to the driest corner of the hut; Link, left feeling dangerously close to a loose end, uses the downpour to inspect every inch of the roof for leaks, particularly over the boarded space that forms the loft. There's no problems he can find with it; it’s dry enough, and looks like it’ll remain that way. It’s fortunate. There's not enough room in this hut to hang Revali's hammock, which leaves the rough straw-stuffed mattress in the loft as the only viable place to sleep.
Asides from the ground, that is, but Revali makes a noise of disbelief when he suggests that one of them (Link) should sleep down here. He aims a steeply angled frown at the water seeping through the doorway. The floor is only half-boarded, and water marches in a small stream across the threshold – not much further, but enough of an incursion for Revali to call Link, among other things, an idiot for even considering the thought.
And so when evening eventually comes, they share the loft once more. Revali’s wing doesn’t stray across to Link again.
Not that it did in the first place, Link reminds himself.
As the days continue to drift past, the chick gradually starts to sleep through the night better. Back when it first hatched — such a short time ago, and yet it feels like so long — it would wake every hour or so, demanding food to replenish the energy it had expended in breaking free of its shell. Now, it might wake twice at most, and not always from hunger.
Sadly, it’s still not very consistent about when it wakes. Sometimes it stirs awake a little after sun’s setting, before they’ve properly retired for the night; most often, it chooses to voice discomfort around midnight. And just tonight, it came abruptly awake just a little more than an hour before dawn, its loud and insistent cries dragging them both with it. Revali had roughly ordered Link to go back to sleep, and gone to see what it needed.
And now dawn arrives again, and Link wakes with it, but Revali does not. He’s still deep in slumber, the chick tucked securely in the crook of his wing. It begins to stir before he does; Link reaches for the chick before it can start to peep at them and disturb Revali’s sorely-deserved rest.
Carefully, Link cradles the chick to his chest as he climbs down the ladder, a more precarious prospect than it ought to be with only one hand to spare. He replies to its chirps with short, staccato sounds of his own. He might not be able to talk to it, as such, but it still seems to be mollified by his faltering attempts at responding.
He finds some of the spare firewood and drags it outside. The supplies are dwindling, but there’s no deadwood up here for Link to supplement the shelter’s supplies, and he doesn’t yet dare raid the garrison again. Soon that might be a worry, but for now, Link can’t do anything about it; he builds the fire back up first, then finds the fish Revali had brought in late the previous night. It’s lucky that the foxes didn’t get to those while Link and Revali were sleeping; scavengers don’t seem to come up this far. A relief, but not enough reason for either to relax their vigilance over the chick.
When the fire is hot enough, Link drives a stake of wood into each fish and digs the end of the sticks into the soil, so that they lean over the flames. While the fish roast in the start of a meal for himself and Revali, Link balances the chick in one arm and carefully brings scraps across to it.
It is still sightless, its grey eyelids looking to be as firmly shut as ever. That said, the chick lunges for food with greater precision than it ever did before. It even manages to pluck one scrap from Link’s fingers before he intends to release it, though the chick can’t then figure out what to do with the food. It ends up letting the scrap drop from its beak, not knowing yet that tilting its head back, at this point, would help. Link exhales around a huff of laughter and picks the scrap up again, bringing it back to the chick’s gaping mouth. Seems they need to be even more careful when feeding it, if it’s so determined to participate.
Distantly, he hears the faintest sound of movement, as though Revali is finally stirring awake. Before he can wake fully and become alarmed by the chick’s absence, Link lets out a reassuring hum, as if to say, We’re down here.
It takes a while yet for Revali to join them, but before long, Link hears his feet on the ladder, the caution in his movements as he slowly descends. Revali seems to cast an odd look Link’s way as he reaches the bottom rung; Link doesn’t know what to make of it, but it’s easily discounted as Revali slots effortlessly into the rhythms of the morning alongside Link, setting the fish to one side and lifting a kettle of water to replace them over the coals.
“…That song,” Revali says later, when they eventually get around to breaking their fast with the cooled roasted bass, “what is it?”
Link blinks at him, perplexed.
Revali shakes his head, then, amusement in the crinkle of his eyes. “I despair of you,” he says, though his voice speaks of good humour. “Are you truly so oblivious to your own actions? You’ve been at your incessant humming for days.”
It still takes Link a second to place what Revali means. That song he’s been humming to the chick? Though he’s hardly been singing it constantly, the way Revali is suggesting, Link supposes… there is only one song he keeps reaching for. It’s the song that’s been most comforting to him over the years, more so than even the lullabies his mother sang to an infant Aryll, and presumably to Link before her…
“Mipha,” he says, and smiles a little at the memory. He’d been five, if that. Certainly no more than six. And she’d seemed so big and confident, almost an adult — even if, with hindsight, Link can recognise that she hadn’t even reached adolescence yet; but Zora ages are a mystery to anyone, let alone a small child. “She was learning”—he holds up his hands, mimicking the shape of her Grace—“and it helped her concentrate. I heard it a lot.” Because he’d been a child, and even though he’d found himself holding his own—even winning—in the training ring, his opponents all had the advantage of reach. He’d worn a lot of bruises, back then. He’d even been childishly pleased about it. After all, it helped his new friend to practise, too!
“…Right,” Revali says. His tone sounds just a little bit strained, his levity of moments prior vanishing. Link looks at him oddly, but Revali avoids his eyes and refuses to elaborate.
They finish their meal in awkward silence. After, Revali is quick to make himself scarce, leaving Link to clear up and to dwell on just what might have set him off this time. His mood seemed to plummet at the mention of their fellow Champion, but that doesn’t entirely add up. Revali has a certain fondness for Mipha — at least, Link thought he did — so his sudden bout of sullen evasiveness doesn’t make sense.
Try as he might, Link cannot figure it out.
Still, there’s nothing he can do about it, and still plenty to be done. Link leaves Revali to his incomprehensible sulk. Taking charge of the chick first thing that morning means that Link’s own routine is all off-kilter; once the remnants of their meal have been dealt with, Link reaches for his sword. Revali is still… off wherever he’s chosen to go to make himself scarce, Link runs through his sword drills as usual. He’s acutely aware of the chick, swaddled in its sling across his chest, and that awareness makes his movements subdued and cautious to start with. While he would prefer not to end up in a fight while carrying it, he still has to know what he can and can’t do without risking harm to the chick.
One cannot be too careful, after all. Given the state of Hyrule’s roads and the monster nests forging footholds across the country, it’s a miracle they haven’t crossed paths with an encampment already, though Link has spotted the faint glimmers of fires off to the north, dotted along the line of the Lindor mountains, and on a few occasions he’s heard the rumble of explosions echoing up the cliffs that surround the Tamio as Revali tangles with some unsuspecting Lizalfos.
So he would rather be certain. Just in case.
Slowly, then faster, Link parries an invisible foe, careful to ensure that his movements don’t jostle or harm the chick. It squirms and makes displeased chirps against him, and he really ought to stop soon, but…
His movements grow more assured. He runs through the last stances once, twice, a third time and then again, and once more for good measure, until he’s satisfied that he can adjust his form enough to accommodate the tiny body swaddled against him.
Then, and only then, does he sheathe his sword and put it to one side.
Pursuing Revali feels like a fool’s errand; instead, Link turns next to Bran, checking her over. He’d managed, eventually, to retrieve the mare, though he was forced to wait until the patrol had finally moved on from the garrison. In his absence, she had taken command of a field of strange stones bored through with holes, and was happily foraging for mushrooms, in lieu of any apples, when Link finally found her. Link hopes she hasn’t developed a taste for them. It would be some terrible luck if she were to eat something poisonous, having learned incaution in the days when he’d inadvertently neglected her.
Perhaps it’s because of this, or maybe Link is reading the frustration of his own lessened capabilities into the mare’s mood, but in the days since their reunion, Bran has seemed less than impressed with the sparseness of the grazing up here, though Revali briefly became her preferred person after he came back from a foraging trip with apples: just this side of ripe, and not at all shrivelled, despite the season. (“That mountain,” he’d said, once again sounding utterly perplexed by it, and Link had nodded along absently, still unsure just what was disturbing him so. Had resolved once again to climb Satori Mountain one day and learn just what is so strange about it.)
He takes the time to brush Bran’s coat out as best he can, and checks the condition of her hooves and shoes. The chick starts chattering at him partway through, oblivious to his divided attention. Alas, Revali is still skulking somewhere else, and without him available to take charge of the chick, Link is forced to listen to and regretfully disregard its chirps of displeasure, which only intensify as he ignores it.
Once satisfied that Bran is in good enough health, though, Link turns his attention back to the chick. It can’t be hungry again, can it? Drifting back to the hut, Link sits and carefully removes the chick from the sling across his chest, lifting it down to his folded knees. He hums to it, doing his best to steer away from the apparently controversial song he’d learned from Mipha.
Maybe it’s because the chick doesn’t recognise the new song he’s humming, so it takes much longer to turn its head towards him than it usually would.
In turn, a long while passes before Link notices just what has changed.
In fairness, it’s not the first time that the chick has listened to him or Revali with rapt curiosity, as though the tangle of instincts at play within its small body are insisting that it tries to learn as much as possible, as quickly as possible; it never pays closer attention than when Link is humming to it, and he almost takes that for granted, watching the drift of the clouds overhead and the silence of the road far below them. In his inattentiveness, he pays less heed to the chick than perhaps he ought until, upon reaching the extent of the songs he remembers, he finally glances down at it, expecting to find it sinking into a doze again.
Instead, the chick is staring at him.
Up at him. The chick. Staring. Actually, truly, genuinely—
“Revali!” Link calls out.
Revali, it transpires, was skulking around the side of the hut, pretending to take stock of their water supply — but at the urgency in Link’s voice, he abandons the pretence and hurries across. “What is it?” he demands, like he expects something to be wrong, but nothing is wrong.
Quite the opposite.
A smile tugs at Link’s mouth. He whispers, “Look—”
The chick’s eyes are a blur of red, bright spots against the pale downy feathers still slowly coming through over its face. Revali stares at it, his beak gaping open in surprise.
It peers blearily up at them — past them, to the sky. Its own beak is pressed firmly shut, and its head draws back down towards its shoulders, as if confused—or even a little frightened—by the vast new world around it.
And slowly, carefully, Revali lowers his head towards the chick. He taps the tip of his beak against the chick’s, just once, a small delicate click that calls the chick’s eyes back to him.
Link watches them both, a bubble of emotion taking root in his chest. He feels buoyant, as though — in this moment — if he were to step out over the cliff, he would find himself hovering, suspended and weightless.
It feels an awful lot like happiness. And though this is a stolen experience, one which Link ought not to have any place in, he cannot help but bask in the feeling. Just for a little while.
Just for now.
Sight gives the chick new stubbornness.
Now that it can (sort of) tell what it’s lunging at, its efforts to snatch scraps of food before Link or Revali can drop them into its waiting mouth only intensify. Not that it manages to eat anything of what it grabs — it lacks the coordination to tip its head back and let the food fall further back into its beak, which results in a lot of dropped meatscraps, Link constantly worrying that it’s going to somehow choke, and Revali dubbing it too single minded for its own good.
Link cannot help but agree with that assessment. Mealtimes were a lot simpler before the chick decided to practise self-insufficiency.
There’s one other concern, as well. One that affects Link more than Revali…
“If it bites you,” Revali had told him, the first time they’d fed it after its eyes had finally opened, “be warned, I will have no sympathy.”
So far, though, Link has been lucky.
Two days later, Link is once more in charge of feeding the chick while Revali, recently returned from a foraging trip, sits a short distance away from them. He’s in the middle of preening, painstakingly moving his feathers this way and that. Link sneaks glances his way whenever he thinks Revali won’t notice. There must be a pattern behind his actions, but if there is, Link cannot determine it.
And in a quirk of timing, the chick senses his complacency — or perhaps (and more likely) Link just isn’t paying enough attention to it, distracted as he is by Revali and the play of light on his plumage: the chick misses the scrap of food Link is holding, and grabs the tip of his finger instead.
Not quite a proper bite. More like an uncontrolled yanking motion. The tip of its beak is already remarkably sharp, though, and Link hisses, more startled than hurt.
The chick’s head draws back, mistaking Link’s sound for censure, and Revali pauses mid-preen, turning to Link sharply.
“I did warn you,” he says, but he moves closer anyway. He catches Link’s arm and pulls it into his line of sight, frowning. “You’re barely bleeding,” he adds, “no need to fuss.”
Despite those words, he has yet to let go of Link’s arm. It falls to Link to reclaim possession of his limb: that the chick does still need feeding is a convenient excuse — and a vocal one, because it’s making displeased and distressed sounds over its inability to grab for the fallen scrap itself. Link picks it up, bringing the food back to the chick’s gaping beak and waiting for it to grasp for the morsel, though he’s careful to keep his fingers at a remove.
Link expects Revali to go back to preening at that point, but instead he stays nearby, as though he’s decided that he clearly has to keep a careful eye on them. Link doesn’t fight him on it. Still, after that, Link takes to holding the chick’s food between the first two joints of his fingers instead, giving the chick far fewer targets to accidentally bite.
But fingers aren’t the only thing it grabs for, now it can see them. Hair and feathers are fair game too, and if Link didn’t know better, he might think the chick was making clumsy attempts at preening them the way Revali does. The chick has little idea of what that entails, however, and it mostly succeeds at tugging painfully on whatever it’s managed to capture. Though he does feel a momentary frustration whenever it happens, the chick’s activities are — dare he say it — cute; Link can almost disregard the sharp sudden tug on his scalp if he focuses instead on how it’s trying to learn.
And Revali doesn’t help matters at all. While he does intercede with a harsh rolling sound — that, to Link’s ear, sounds like it’s a discouragement, or a ‘no’ — whenever the chick tries to bite one of them, he makes no such effort when it grabs Link’s hair, or his tunic, or even at Revali’s own feathers. Truthfully, Link starts to wonder whether Revali is finding this funny.
…No, now that Link knows him that much better, he is certain that Revali derives some measure of entertainment from this situation, though Link has to concede that he, too, is not much more blameless: the sight of the chick clumsily trying to rearrange the tuft of Revali’s chest-feathers to make them that much more comfortable is… well, yes, he finds it amusing to witness, though Link suspects he does a much better job of hiding that.
But despite the joy he finds in the chick’s progress — while he is genuinely relieved to see it thriving, and growing stronger by the day…
However reluctant he is to acknowledge it, Link has to concede that they’re existing on borrowed time.
The chick is already twenty days old. It’s no longer as fragile as it was the day it hatched, when it seemed as though one wrong movement might damage its frail limbs, and its sparse natal down has been almost completely replaced by a cloud of soft grey fuzz.
And Revali said, didn’t he? The chick couldn’t be moved far, not until its down came in properly. There’s still one bald spot on the underside of its chin, but other than that…
Link should be glad to see it growing, getting stronger, becoming more likely to survive with every passing hour. But as the month slowly runs out, he cannot stop himself from thinking, guiltily, about the princess. About his neglected duty. About the ever dwindling number of days before he cannot afford to be away from Central Hyrule.
He made a promise. At the start of all this, he swore he would see the egg — and then, the chick — safely to Rito Village. Yet he is rapidly running out of time. He cannot stay much longer, no matter how he wants to.
What Link wants has always been immaterial.
So that evening, he reaches for his courage and broaches the subject. Revali goes very quiet when Link asks his question; Link’s heart sinks at the eventual answer.
“…It should,” says Revali, staring down at the chick and steadfastly refusing to look at Link. “Yes. I think it will be able to, now.”
Revali turns in first. Link stays awake a while longer, watching the shadows elongate as dusk settles into night. In the distance, he sees the same great shadow he’d espied before take off from the Gerudo Highlands, drifting slowly northward. In search of different hunting, no doubt.
The sooner Revali returns to Rito Village, the sooner he can set out to investigate it. It isn't something Link can help with, so he puts it out of mind for now, dowses the fire, and retreats into the hut.
This time, he doesn’t bother climbing the ladder.
They set off soon after dawn.
Revali flies ahead, the chick bundled up against him as securely as they could manage, which leaves Link to follow on horseback. It’s not an ideal solution. Revali cannot fly much higher than his current altitude — the air grows colder the higher he climbs, he’d pointed out in a voice sharp as courser-bee stings, and he won’t risk the chick catching a chill, so…
He hadn’t said it in so many words, but it sounded like he was trying to justify why Link couldn’t leave yet. As if Link wasn’t planning to see this through to the end in the first place. But Revali didn’t give him the opportunity to say so. He still isn’t giving Link the chance to speak. He’s been keeping his distance since then.
Link spares a moment to watch Revali in flight, before steering Bran carefully down the hillside towards the road. He has to be careful; the ground here is steep, and not especially hospitable to a horse’s hooves. The last thing he needs is for Bran to throw a shoe this far out from a farrier. He keeps his eyes on the terrain and a hand on her broad neck, murmuring encouragement, until they reach level ground.
Revali dips low to circle them. Cautiously, Link tests the strained silence between them, offering up a quiet and carefully neutral comment on the likely duration of their journey, but Revali just glowers at him. Saying nothing, he peels away.
With a sigh, Link follows.
It’s an easy road, and by the time Revali calls for a break, some time after midmorning, they have already reached the ridge of mountains that mark the end of the scablands. A waypoint, an inn, sits in the shadow of one of the great rocky bluffs on the road to the Tabantha Great Bridge, but Link has no desire to be recognised. Nor, it seems, does Revali: instead he aims for the shadow of one of the giant, strangely-shaped trees that dominate this region. Link steers Bran to join him.
Alas, Revali is still far from a conversational mood: as soon as Link turns Bran loose to rest and graze, Revali foists the chick on him and retreats to an outcrop a short distance away. He perches there and checks over his bow in sullen silence. Link’s attempts to initiate conversation go ignored.
Now that they are back outside in the world, whatever camaraderie they had begun to develop seems to fade into nothing. Link misses the growing ease that was between them before.
While Bran grazes and Revali sulks, Link seeks to distract himself with the chick, letting it set its feet on the grass. It’s getting stronger by the day, and is starting to develop some semblance of balance. Sometimes it even manages to hoist itself upright on spindly, untried legs, doing its utmost to stand. Though its efforts promptly and inevitably deposit it back in the dust, the chick never takes long to try again.
Watching its determined efforts brings Link no small amusement. It amazes him too. The chick is still so very small and helpless. It’s growing quickly – much larger now than when it hatched – but Link doesn’t have enough experience with infants of his own race to draw comparison. Only a few memories of his sister’s infancy, when she’d seemed different every time he saw her.
He has to wonder about its development. How long will it take before it sheds its baby down and starts to grow in proper feathers? how long until flight? Link realises, abruptly, just how little he knows about the Rito, and that realisation comes with the awareness that he’s thinking much too far into the future. That he won’t be a part of the chick’s life by the time any of this comes to matter. At most, he might recognise a pair of red eyes in a fledgling’s face, if ever his duties take him past Rito Village in the months and years to come.
But even if this journey ends with that likeliest of outcomes, Link is still intensely curious, and always will be.
He knows this much, at least. In one of his more gregarious moods, before his present sullenness took over, Revali had mentioned that it can take a year, or more, before a chick’s vocal cords develop enough to mimic the sounds of the Hylian language. To attempt their speech takes longer yet.
By contrast, the Rito’s native language proves almost beyond Link’s ability to mimic. His throat isn’t shaped to muster the trills and clicks and croons that Revali can make effortlessly and the chick attempts to copy. Oh, Link can manage a few, here and there — like the rolling sound Revali uses when he’s scolding the chick for trying to pluck his feathers. Link first used it in an effort to deter the chick from nipping his fingers during its lunges for food. (Revali had laughed at his attempt, before correcting the way he produced it: the sound has to sit as far back in his throat as possible, where the vibrations almost roll into his chest, in order to sound close to right.)
There’s a descending croon too, which Revali most commonly makes while the chick is drowsing against him. It starts high and trickles down, slow and so soft as to be incongruous; it’s not a sound Link would have expected to hear coming from Revali at all, except of late, he’s finding more and more about Revali that doesn’t at all match what Link first thought of him.
He likes this side of Revali. He’s even growing accustomed to the harsher facets of his personality, the longer they spend in each other’s company. Yes, Revali is still prickly, and sometimes difficult to get along with — like today — but there are times when it almost seems as though Revali finds being around people just as awkward as Link does.
They just… respond to that in such different ways.
It takes a short while longer, but eventually Revali emerges from his sullen retreat. They need to get moving again, if they’re to stand a chance of reaching Rito Village before nightfall, and Revali knows that just as well as Link. He replaces his bow across his back before returning to where Link and the chick are waiting.
But the chick protests when he tries to take it back. Being picked up again is an insult it cannot abide, and it resists Revali’s efforts to return it to the sling, chattering angrily.
Link makes the mistake of laughing.
At the sound of Link’s voice, Revali turns a shocked stare his way, as if—in the space of a morning—he’d forgotten Link could laugh. His eye twitches, like he’s struggling not to give in to amusement as well, and for a moment it feels as though everything is right again.
As though, for just a moment, the strained edge that the journey has introduced to their truce melts away. It’s like they’re back in that hut on the side of the Tamio, finding some measure of companionship that Link might never have believed possible, before all this happened.
But it doesn’t last. The spell of Revali’s good temper snaps and his face clouds over again. “You take it, then,” he mutters, undoing the sling across his chest and shoving it at Link. He turns his back on Link to adjust the lacing of his undershirt, and — ah. The chick must have been tugging on it while he was in flight. His frustration makes a little more sense. It was, no doubt, very distracting.
In silence, Link retrieves the pieces of Revali’s armour from his saddlebag and passes them to him. If Link is to take the chick then Revali might as well be adequately shielded, in case they encounter a monster camp on the far side of the canyon.
Link lets Revali have his privacy while he buckles his chestplate and spaulders back into place; he fastens the sling across his own chest, and coaxes the chick into accepting his efforts to put it back in there. As he does so, Link casts a glance at the bridge looming nearby. He’ll have to walk across, no doubt, to keep a better eye on Bran and to make sure she doesn’t spook. The chick probably won’t object — at least no more than it is currently objecting to the indignity of the sling — and with any luck, the crossing might help it settle enough for Revali to take charge of it again on the other side, or for Link to attempt to try the saddle again. (Rito and horses, he’s discovering, don’t mix well.)
He soon learns he was much too optimistic. Progress is slow, and he has to coax Bran every step of the way. He hadn’t known it before, having rarely ridden her over anything loftier than the bridges over the Hylia River, but it hadn’t been an anomaly when Bran baulked at the crossing of the Regencia. The mare decidedly does not like high up places, and grows frightened at the sight of empty sky below — so it doesn’t help that the boards are damaged in places, and open onto the depths of the canyon.
At least she doesn’t bolt. But that would still mean movement, and something he could try to soothe and guide; instead, she freezes, and snorts, and refuses to set a foot further along the bridge.
Bran’s nerves infect the chick as well. It squirms and chitters in its sling. Link tries to calm them both, and overhead Revali circles, calling down commentary that Link pretends not to hear, until at last Revali’s false helpfulness grows too irritating for Link to bear and he gestures for Revali to fly on ahead.
Revali does, but with such obvious ill-grace that Link can only stand there for a moment, his fingers tight in Bran’s reins. It’s futile and absurd and despite knowing that, Link briefly wishes that they’d never left that hut on the side of the Tamio.
But Link can’t afford to think such things, nor to dwell on hopeless dreams. If nothing else, Bran needs his concentration, and the chick needs his attention; when he looks back at the ridgelands side of the bridge, he spots the shape of a cart rolling up the road. Travellers of some kind. Link doubts they’ll appreciate being held up by a horse too frightened to stir a hoof towards safe ground.
Link moves to her other side, in the hopes of blocking — even slightly — the view that is stressing Bran most. He murmurs reassurance, trying to coax her back into movement.
Slowly, inch by agonising inch, he gets her moving again. It gets easier once the gap in the bridge is safely removed from her peripheral vision; though she refuses to be stirred to any pace faster than a walk, progress is still progress.
Revali disagrees.
“I hope you realise this isn’t the only bridge between here and Rito Village,” he points out, within seconds of Bran finally setting foot on the stability of solid ground. “Why you would travel with such a liability…”
Link shoots him a glare, stroking Bran’s neck reassuringly. They’ll figure that out when they reach it. Right now, he needs to settle Bran and…
The shouted, “Heeeeeey!” that comes up behind Link makes him tighten his fingers in the reins. If they don’t look, it’s plausible that they didn’t hear—
Revali’s head snaps in the direction of the shout, shattering the veil of deniability.
Reluctantly, Link turns as well. The cart he spotted earlier has by now reached the final quarter of the crossing: two travellers, plus a mule towing the cart. One man is in the driver’s seat, and the other sits slouched in the back. The driver is waving.
“Didn’t expect to find anyone on the road here,” he calls loudly, as they catch up to Link and Revali. “Thought I’d imagined you at first.”
He’s a plain sort of fellow, Link notes, younger than his companion by some years, with nondescript brown hair flopping over his eyes.
The man in the back of the cart squints at them, his brow furrowed. “‘Tis strange to meet travellers here,” he agrees, in a quiet, gravelly voice, before turning his head away. “We rarely see folks in these parts. Not since…”
“Not since the monsters got bold,” the younger man says, speaking over him. “Used to see people fairly regular, but the army don’t send patrols this far, so it’s just not safe. And the Rito, they’ve got their own problems up in Hebra, it sounds like. No offence meant,” he adds on, as Revali bristles, “just saying how it seems, yeah?”
Link cuts in before Revali can offer up a retort. “Same everywhere,” he points out, thinking of the Lizalfos nests Revali has seen along the Tamio, and the smoke-fires of Bokoblin camps that flicker into life every evening on the sides of remote hills and mountains. Even if the army could go to every corner of Hyrule, and respond to every problem, they couldn’t clear them out fast enough.
There are so many places where Link has dealt with monster camps, only to find them reestablished only a few weeks later.
Revali snorts. “If travelling is so unlucky, it makes me wonder why you’ve come out this far.”
“Long story,” says the younger man; he seems to be the more talkative by some margin. “Something’s been attacking our goats, up in the Highlands. We graze them up there right through until autumn, see? Only, with these attacks, we’re having to keep ‘em all penned down by the village, an’ that’s ruining the grazing ahead of winter…”
“Bokoblins?” Link guesses — they’re the greatest threat to livestock he knows of — but the young man shakes his head.
“Kagorroks, we think.”
“Kargaroks,” Revali corrects him, “are much too small to do more than harry a goat. Perhaps if they were menacing your cuccos—”
Link sends him a pleading look, which he opts to ignore.
But the young man makes a noise of consideration and turns his attention to Revali. “You’ve encountered them before, yeah? The gold there—” he gestures at the feathered spaulders that form part of Revali’s armour “—it’s like that feather we found. Hey, Garoh, wouldn’t you say them and those are the same?”
The man in the back of the cart – Garoh – turns his head towards Revali as well. He’s still squinting, in a way that suggests he might be somewhat shortsighted. “Similar,” he says. “Maybe.”
Revali scoffs, “If they’re only similar…”
“Naw, we brought one with us - here, look.”
The younger man pulls something from a satchel on the bench next to him. Long, trailing, golden — specifically, brown transitioning into gleaming gold. It’s the same hues as the feathers that make up Revali’s spaulders. Link looks between them, thinking that perhaps there’s a story here.
There’s something else too, pressing at the edge of his thoughts. It reminds him, very faintly, of a distant glint, a shape wheeling over the Highlands at dusk.
“That’s much too long for a Kargarok,” Revali says, frowning at the plume in the man’s hands. He meets Link’s gaze; his eyes flash a warning. Link inclines his head a fraction.
Yeah. This is all sounding very… convenient.
“So you do know of them? Say, you wouldn’t know how to deal with them, would you? I’d heard there was a warrior among the Rito who’d driven these things off before, but that’s when I was a kid…
“Wait, where’s my manners? Sorry. I’m Rynn,” says the man, then gestures behind him, “and like I said, this is Garoh. He’s my brother-in-law — my sister’s husband. Saffy’s back in Illumeni still.”
The newly-identified Rynn’s abrupt changes of topic leave Link struggling to keep up. He withdraws from the conversation, leaving Revali to take charge of it. Link is better off listening, and trying to match what they’re talking about with what he’s seen — at his own pace.
Alas, Revali isn’t quite on the same page as Link. “…Charmed,” he says dryly, and adds nothing else. Though it would be the polite thing to do, he doesn’t offer their own names in turn.
Rynn notices. He frowns, leaning forward like he means to press for them, but Garoh speaks before he can. “Three years back. You’re the one that dealt with the infestation at Piper Ridge, aren’t you?”
“Hmph. What of it?”
“Only thinking. You must know what we’re up against…”
He trails off, turning his face to the south. Link follows his gaze. The plains slope down, hiding their home village from sight, but the great red cliffs of the Gerudo Highlands stand starkly visible, even from such a distance. Absently, and in a way that strikes Link as almost nervous, one of his hands starts to fidget, tapping just inside the crook of his elbow.
Both men are on edge, in their ways, but where Garoh retreats back into silence, Rynn seems to be struck by the incessant need to chatter. “So, the goats. We’ve been trying to keep ‘em safe, but there’s no real corralling a goat, you know? One mistake with the pens, and they wander off up the cliffs again, and then they start getting picked off. Garoh went east some days back to ask for aid, but…” He shrugs helplessly. “It’s like I said, yeah? The army’s just not interested in these parts. Garoh went as far as the garrison but there weren’t nobody there, and no-one on the road, neither - ‘cept for you, now, of course.”
…Very convenient. Subtly, Link tries to catch Revali’s attention. One or both of these men is a liar.
What Link can’t figure out, though, is why they would be lying.
“…I suppose you wouldn’t have found anyone,” Revali says. He folds his wings behind his back in an easy, careless motion. Closer to his bow and quiver. “After all, the patrols do so rarely go that way.”
Link frowns at him in warning. He’s being too obvious.
“Yeah. So, that’s why we were headed north,” Rynn says, thankfully proving oblivious to the tone of Revali’s voice. “We hoped, y’know, that maybe the Rito could help, if the army wouldn’t…”
Rynn is too chatty, Link decides. He’s giving away information much too easily. But Garoh doesn’t make much more sense. Link regards him more closely. The man is of indeterminate age — the lines on his face could be from years or from weather, if he’s up in the mountains often. His hair is a close-cropped burr, too short to tell its colour beyond pale against a sun-reddened scalp. He’s yet to shift from the back of the cart, but that’s easily explained by the careful angle his leg sits at, as though he’s taken an injury at some point recently.
Neither looks outwardly suspicious, and yet their story doesn’t add up. Could both be telling the truth, as they know it? It’s possible, Link decides — if Rynn misunderstood where Garoh went.
It’s unlikely. Garoh had plenty of time to correct the tale, if Rynn was repeating it wrong.
Garoh’s tapping pauses. He turns his head in Link’s direction, as if noticing that he’s under scrutiny. A fighter’s instincts. Link looks away, stepping closer to Bran and the sword that’s once again hidden against her flank. His eyes seek Revali again, wondering whether he noticed as well.
Then, distantly, Link hears an eerie cry that’s only somewhat like a bird. His ears twitch at the sound; so do Rynn’s, both of them looking up at the same time. Revali, whose hearing isn’t quite as strong as a Hylian’s, takes a moment longer to register the change in their focus, but when he follows their gaze, Link knows he must be seeing the creature overhead much more keenly than Link can.
“That,” he says, “is not a Kargarok.”
“That’s it, though,” insists Rynn, urgently. “It’s that – the thing that’s been menacing our herds—”
Its tailfeathers are long, streaming plumes; they glint gold in the sunlight. If not for that, and if not for Rynn identifying it, Link doesn’t know that he would have drawn the connection: the creature is much too far from its supposed hunting grounds, and Link had never glimpsed it during the day, only at dusk. Revali had been convinced it must be nocturnal. Clearly it isn’t. How high had it been flying, for none of them to see it until now?
As he stares up at the creature overhead, a tinge of fear creeps into Rynn’s voice. “Do you think it’s pursuing us? ‘Cause we got away from it once before? Are they able to do that?”
Despite Rynn’s mounting distress, Garoh acts strangely unconcerned. His hand keeps drumming that same shifting beat against his arm. It starts to sound less like a nervous habit and more like a pattern.
He is, Link realises, the only one who hasn’t looked up at the shadow wheeling overhead.
“If that’s the case, we’re lucky to have met Champions on the road,” he murmurs distractedly.
“…Indeed,” replies Revali. His eyes flash a warning, not that Link needed one; he’s already working the folds of cloth loose, easing his sword free.
Revali might be recognised by reputation alone… But other than being in Revali’s company, there is nothing at all that could mark Link out as another Champion.
(Against his chest, the chick is quiet and - thankfully - still.)
“So tell me,” Revali says, dangling words out like bait — and distracting attention from Link — “just how many goats must one feed a Kargarok, to encourage it to grow to such a size?”
“Feeding — what?” Rynn splutters, but Revali ignores him. His eyes are trained on Garoh.
Garoh smiles without mirth. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says. “They’re opportunists. A Rito should know that; the Kargaroks snatch enough of your young.”
And then he looks at them, no longer squinting but with his eyes open to their fullest extent, and Link sees—
His eyes are a deep, deep red-brown.
Like a Sheikah clansman.
Or, perhaps, like a Yiga.
Revali lunges for his bow but Garoh proves faster. Eyes once again closed, he drops something from the side of the cart—a talisman, written in deep crimson ink, which releases a bright flash of cascading sparks that sears Link’s eyes, leaving his vision a mess of burning afterimages.
The mule screams and bucks; Rynn yelps and tries to calm it. Link blinks away the afterimages from the flare. Overhead, the shadow dips into a dive, straight at them, like it’s been called by the flash of sparks. Its wings are vast, and block out the sunlight behind it. Smaller than a Divine Beast, but as it approaches, Link quickly realises that it’s larger than any monster he has ever seen before.
“Revali,” he says.
Revali snarls. “You hardly need to tell me!” he retorts, catching his bow in the curl of his foot. He casts a wild look Link’s way; his eyes drop to the chick hidden under swathes of cloth, and he snaps, “Keep it safe!” before unleashing a Gale that leaves Bran snorting in alarm and drives the mule into a panic.
It bucks and shakes the cart. The motion almost knocks Garoh off balance — but only almost, and Rynn yells something that fails to sound like words as the man leaps from the space at the back of the cart.
He’s tall, standing up. Link notices that first. Taller than most Hylians.
Because he isn’t Hylian.
Link wrests his sword free of its wrappings. He slaps Bran’s flank, urging her to run; then he’s forced to scramble out of the way himself, as Garoh’s two-handed strike cleaves the spot where they’d stood.
Focus. Link has to focus. But between the cries of the panicking mule and Bran’s shrill whinnying and the cacophonous shrieking and, like thunder, the echoes of an explosion overhead — Link’s ears struggle to cope with so much sound. Too distracting—
He dives out of the way of another strike from Garoh’s sword, hitting the ground hard. Where he’d been, just seconds before, the downward force of Garoh’s swing seems to rip up the dust.
Against Link’s chest, the chick adds its frightened voice to the din.
But if anything that tethers Link, brings him clarity. He curls his fingers into the dirt and climbs back to his feet.
So. That sword.
Longer than most bladed weapons Link has seen, there’s a strange pattern cut through it. He wonders — he waits, tempting his foe into motion. Garoh takes the bait and lunges with a savage, sidewards swipe that Link dodges easily, now that he’s had time to raise his guard. Into the space left between them, Link throws the handful of dirt he’d gathered before.
Something seems to cut through it. It sends the dust radiating in rippling clouds. Like a sandstorm, he thinks, but somehow deadlier. There’s gashes carved into the soil where that second swing struck.
But now that he knows what he’s confronting, the direction of the fight becomes that much easier to predict.
It shouldn’t be any sort of contest. Now that Link looks closely, Garoh’s movements are sloppy and ill-practised. Link, for his part, has rarely missed a moment’s training since he was four years old and first had a wooden practice sword pressed into his hands.
No, it shouldn’t be any contest, except Link has to guarantee the safety of the chick. He can’t dodge as recklessly as he would under normal circumstances, when the only risk is to himself. But Garoh has no such qualms, and he has the dual advantages of reach and the strange winds summoned by his sword. All Link can do is to keep his distance, waiting for an opening wide enough to try to get close.
He blocks everything else out, ignoring the sounds of battle overhead. Even when the monster lets out a shriek, long and loud and furious, and Garoh’s gaze lifts skywards, Link’s does not.
It’s the advantage he was waiting for. Garoh’s distraction, the faltering stance of that spiral-cut sword, is an opportunity. Link closes in before the man can react.
Under his plain tunic, Garoh wears no armour. Link’s blade slides into the trunk of his chest as though it’s little more than paper, piercing deep with little resistance. This close, Link bears witness to the shock that dawns in deep red eyes.
Of course, Link is no stranger to killing. He knows better than to linger within range—the dying can prove capable of surprising feats of strength—and so he disengages, wheeling back out of range of a half-hearted vertical strike and the cutting wind it generates. Garoh’s own momentum sends him to his knees.
He must know he’s defeated. The man — Sheikah, Yiga, no matter — looks to the sky again, burbling bloodied laughter past the wound in his chest. “Too late,” he forces out past a bloodstained grin. His eyes track the giant shape in the sky, alight with a strange fervour. “My Armoroc… was raised for this. Champion’s— done for. Already… won.”
The creature shrieks again. A cold grip seizes Link then. Against his better judgement, he turns to look.
The monster, this Armoroc, is plummeting in a steep dive towards the canyon.
And below it, gone limp and lifeless, is—
—Revali!
No. It has to be some mistake. Link grips his sword’s hilt far too tight, overcome with murderous fury; he wants nothing more than to strike Garoh down where he kneels in the dust and his own expanding pool of blood—
Except Garoh sways and collapses, no threat at all.
Link forgets the dying man behind him, urgency lending him speed as he sprints for the edge of the cliff. Just what happened? Link can’t tell. A clash of some kind. Revali is the greatest archer the Rito have ever known, but this monster dwarfs him. It must have—
Somehow it got him.
He’s in time to see the Armoroc land heavily on the valley floor far below. It struggles to fold its wings back against its body, and it screeches frustration.
The canyon walls. They’re hampering it.
Link searches for any sign of blue, but it’s no use; he’s too far away, and the canyon’s depths are indistinct and hazy. He can’t see Revali—
Far below, the Armoroc rears back, shrieking, as a trio of explosions buffet its face simultaneously. It’s enough to confirm that Revali is still alive. Still fighting.
But as the aftermath of the explosions clears, there’s no indication that Revali’s bomb arrows so much as hurt it. There’s only a faint glow, a dark reddish colour, staining the last trails of smoke.
Link clenches the hilt of his sword. How long can Revali hold out like this? He only has so many arrows. That’s the limitation of an archer. That’s why the Rito so often fight in clusters; it’s why Revali is suited to the vanguard, or to support. But within the military formations Link is familiar with, a Rito archer would never, should never be deployed alone.
A grounded Rito is in danger. But Revali shouldn’t be—
A chilling thought occurs to him: Why isn’t he using Gale?
The Armoroc stalks across the canyon floor, closing in on a cluster of rocks. Its head dips down sharply, before it screeches again, the sound of a thwarted hunter.
Link’s heartbeat thunders in his ears. There’s nothing he can do. He can’t assist Revali in the air; he can’t reach him like this. Even if he could, by some miracle, find a way down, he doubts his sword will be of any use against such a monster. He can only watch helplessly as the Armoroc tries and fails again to spread its wings. Its shriek echoes up the canyon walls, eerie and distorted.
There has to be a way down.
Link scans the cliff, searching for anything that might help — a ladder, a rope, something or anything. There’s a ledge, some metres down from where he stands. One of the windmills that line the canyon stands there, turning in place. It had to have been built by someone, but how? When? There’s no way down.
Behind him, Bran trumpets alarm.
Link whirls around. What threat — what now? Garoh hasn’t moved from the spot where he collapsed but Rynn, who Link had discounted as an unlucky scapegoat, is cowering next to the cart, holding his arms up over his head. He’s clutching a sickle, a shape Link recognises. He doesn’t look like he knows how to use it. He looks as though he was intending to use it anyway, before Bran frightened him into a retreat.
Terror can turn even the most untrained, desperate person dangerous.
His eyes, locked on Link, are terrified.
Link is torn two ways: defending against the uncertain threat here on the cliffs, or…
That eerie cry climbs the canyon again. Faintly, another explosion. The monster’s shriek turns outraged.
Which way? Link inches back. Feet still oriented towards the enemies — one crumpled, one cowering — in case either tries something, he tilts his head to one side and searches the cliff anew. The ledge — the windmill — no method of access; but next to the windmill, half sunk into shadow, a stray shaft of sunlight catches on the glint of ore. Beside it lies an abandoned sledgehammer.
If Link’s sword won’t be enough, then maybe…
In the depths of the canyon, the Armoroc finally manages to spread its wings. It flaps them as if considering claiming the skies again, and Link feels the sharp edges of a plan crystallise and slot into place.
Link drops his sword. Without its sheath, it won’t be any use to him. Neither is his bow, likewise secured against Bran’s flank — if Revali’s bomb arrows have limited effect, Link can’t contribute anything more meaningful.
What Link needs is that sledgehammer.
He’s mapping the route when a voice — Rynn’s voice — yelps something that’s almost a warning. Link glances back in time to see Garoh struggling once more to his feet. The man’s face is an ashen mask. His red-stained fingers barely manage to keep their grip on his sword hilt. His grim stare is fixed on Link; he looks halfway to death. Link had thought, for sure, he was dead.
But Link doesn’t have time to waste on him. He has to get to Revali.
He has to help Revali.
Goddesses, he prays, protect us.
Link jumps.
The cliff, here, is not a sheer drop. He lands on a sloping part, half sliding and half skidding the rest of the way down. He stumbles on reaching the ledge, can’t quite keep his balance and pitches off balance. Friction scrapes a line down his left hand as he throws it out in a last ditch attempt to break his fall, trying to shield the chick. He can feel it trembling against his chest, peeping quietly, rattled by the quick-fire drumbeat of Link’s heart. He chokes on an apology. If he could have left it safely—
But he couldn’t. He burns with enough guilt for abandoning Bran, and the mare, at least, can handle herself. The chick is helpless without him, and he dare not leave it within range of an enemy.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Link pushes himself back to his feet. His hand is the only part of him injured, and even that is easy to ignore as he grabs and hefts the sledgehammer. It’s heavy. He has to adjust his stance to compensate. Unbidden, he thinks of Daruk. The Goron warrior’s words filter back to him, booming advice that cuts through his mounting panic:
“Now, remember, little guy — Your footwork’s just as important with a weapon like this, but you gotta remember, you won’t be as fast. Got that?”
Yeah. He’s got it. Thank you, Daruk.
Link cannot see Revali, but the Armoroc keeps its focus bearing down on a single patch of rocks. It’s clear to Link that it’s trying to flush its target out from the terrain he’s using to disguise his precise location. The monster takes a step back, rears up to full, towering height; working its wings free again, it takes off — hampered, yes, and unable to turn easily, but it doesn’t need to. Not for what it intends. The crosswinds generated from its flapping are enough to ruffle Link’s hair, even up here.
It gains height, and vantage. Link gauges the distance between his position and the point to which it climbs.
Close enough, he thinks. If this doesn’t work, they’re doomed anyway.
(If he fails, he’s dead, and the chick with him.)
And on that grim thought and with a last frantic prayer, Link makes the leap into empty space.
The wind howls in his ears as he plummets. His eyes sting. But he fights to stay focused, intent on that trailing line of gold.
If he fails, they’re dead. Simple as that. So he cannot fail.
There.
He grasps at the trio of golden plumes trailing from its giant head, jerking himself out of freefall.
The sudden stop jolts his shoulder, painfully; it drags the Armoroc’s head to one side under the sudden lurch of weight. It screams and thrashes. Distracted from its prey, the Armoroc’s eye turns on him, large and yellow and angry as Link fights to brace himself against the glowing plates covering its head and neck.
He may not have thought this through, entirely. Its head alone is larger than he is. But he has to hope… He has no chance of coming up with a better plan.
Before the Armoroc can figure out how to deal with the gnat of a Hylian that’s bothering it, Link hefts his sledgehammer one-handed and aims a strike at its unprotected eye.
He misses.
Panicked, the Armoroc tosses its head. Link loses his grip on the sledgehammer; it tumbles towards the canyon floor. It’s all he can do to cling to the long plume in his hand, praying it doesn’t come loose. He can’t afford to fall. He refuses to fall. He has to— There! From a distance, the armour appeared to be a single smooth piece. Up close, it’s more of a haphazard patchwork, pieces of different materials bolted together at random: it glows similarly to Sheikah technology, but an eerie reddish colour instead of comforting blue.
If Link had even a small blade to hand, he might be able to jab it into the crevices. In the absence of a better tool, he forces his fingers of his now-weaponless hand into a gap, desperate for any grip, and holds tight.
It thrashes, and Link holds fast.
Realising that it can’t dislodge the annoyance clinging to its face, the Armoroc dives for the canyon floor again. It pecks at the ground, thrashes its head again—anything to force his grip to falter. Link can’t— won’t—
Then it dips low, attempting to scrape its head against one of the rocks to be rid of him. The armour encasing its head would keep it safe; not so Link. Before it can, Link finally lets go.
He hits the ground, much harder than he thought he would. For a long moment he lies there, dazed. Above him, the sky is a finite, shrinking slash of blue, swallowed by the sandstone teeth of the canyon.
Distantly, something clamours for his attention. It’s too far away to hear with any clarity, but it sounds like shouting.
The chick saves him, by no means intentionally. Its tiny talons prick through his tunic, into his chest, as it squirms in fright. Link fights his disorientation, lifting a hand to it. He claws his way back to alertness; when the shadow looms, blocking out the dregs of sunlight overhead, he’s already moving into the shadow of the nearest slab of rock.
Seconds later, the great beak stabs into the dusty earth where he’d lain insensate.
It had lunged for him with such force that it takes the Armoroc precious time to pull itself free again. Though it succeeds, it’s blocked from pursuing: a volley of arrows, then another, whistles overhead, impacting on its patchwork armour and sending it flinching back. Once he’s far enough away from the monster, Link follows the arrows’ path back towards the rocks; at last he sees Revali. He balances precariously on top of one of the boulders. One of his feet is curled up; he seems to be avoiding putting any weight on it.
Link breathes out slowly. Knowing that Revali was… probably okay — well, that turns out to be no substitution for seeing him in the flesh, alive and—mostly—uninjured. But he has no time to dwell. The sledgehammer. He spots it and breaks cover, sprinting in the direction of the Armoroc’s giant clawed foot. It spots him and steps back, yellow eyes following him. Tracking him. It jabs down—
—and is much too slow. Link reaches the hammer and snatches it up again, Daruk’s advice ringing in his ears.
“Plant yourself! You wanna be solid, now. Keep your momentum in your hammer—”
Link watches: gauging, anticipating, predicting the downwards strike that’s sure to come. And when the Armoroc lunges again, Link swings, feet planted solidly against the ground. Heavy, like a Goron. His body is the counterbalance to the head of the hammer. It curves in an arc, impacts against the side of that great armoured beak with a jolt that jars his wrists. But this time, Link keeps his hold on the sledgehammer.
The Armoroc’s head is turned off-course by the blow. It strikes the earth instead. Dazed, it rears back, making a ghastly sound. The lower, unarmoured half of its beak is cracked through.
Link adjusts his stance, readying for pursuit—
“Don’t be so reckless!” he recalls Princess Zelda saying to him, that time when she had scolded him on the flanks of the Eldin foothills. He’d got himself hurt in an altercation with a monster camp, pushing forward when retreat was a a more than reasonable option. Link thinks— right. This time, he retreats, remembering - he can’t afford to take too many risks. Not with the chick. Not with Revali, still somewhere behind him, his hails of arrows soaring overhead to cut off the Armoroc’s attempt at pursuit. Link needs to shield them both as best he can.
The thought of either of them being hurt is unconscionable.
He draws back towards the rocks. The hammer is heavy in his hands; he handles its weight like a vow, a silent promise.
And when the Armoroc tries to lunge for Link again, he swings, once more, to meet it.
This time, he catches the plating across the side of its face. The impact sends it reeling; this time, it collapses to the ground, its head sprawling in the dust.
Link hefts the hammer and brings it down in the exact same spot, cracking the armour in two.
And then he’s forced to retreat again as the Armoroc pitches back, head swinging from side to side in terror. Plating hangs in ruins from the side of its face, exposing dark blue-grey feathers and the wide, wild yellow eye. Something that size can’t ever have encountered people that tried to fight back before. It’s almost pitiable, but Link doesn’t have time to waste on pity: its fear turns to fury, and it bears down on them, spreading its wings wide. Link braces, not knowing whether it plans to fight or flee.
And Revali seizes the opportunity to go on the offensive, his bomb arrows impacting against the new-made gap in its armour, explosions turning the exposed portion of its face into a burning ruin. Gale rushes up behind Link and he stumbles, hammer still held tight in his hands in case it’s not yet over, but even so, Link turns his face to the sky, fixing his eyes upon Revali as he unleashes a furious hail of arrows upon the monster, until at last it opens its mouth on a scream; then, with unerring accuracy, Revali aims a trio of bomb arrows straight down its throat.
It collapses with a thud like a small earthquake and stops moving.
Link watches it closely, panting for breath and willing his thundering heartbeat to settle. Behind him, Revali lands heavily. Link dearly wants to look at him, but -
He rests the head of the hammer on the ground, fingers still curled around its shaft in case the monster still has a last burst of life in it. He lifts his other hand to the chick, which is piping shrill, frightened noises against his chest, and has been for some time. Link hums unsteady reassurance, the tune of Mipha’s song shattering into shards in his throat.
Safe, we’re safe.
Slowly, the chick starts to settle. But as Link turns in search of Revali, the faltering notes of his song have the opposite effect: Revali rouses from his own post-battle haze with a sharp shake of his head, and he rounds on Link.
“What were you thinking?!”
Link stares at him in stunned incredulity. “You went down,” he points out. Revali doesn’t seem badly hurt, at least, but his leg was clearly injured at some point—
“Have you never heard of a feint?” Revali snaps, stalking towards Link with no trace of a limp in his stride. “Hmm? Nor come across the concept of luring an enemy? I had everything under control!”
…Was that his intent?
True, the Armoroc had struggled to manoeuvre in the confines of the canyon, unable to extend its wings as easily as it would in open sky. Revali, who was magnitudes smaller and who had no trouble taking flight whenever he chose, may, in some ways, have held an advantage.
But all the same. Even Revali’s successive volleys of bomb arrows hadn’t made a difference, not before Link’s hammer had cracked the armour encasing the giant bird’s skull. And at his back, his quiver is dangerously close to empty. Link counts the fletchings; only five remain.
The hammer slips from Link’s fingers, which feel suddenly numb. What would Revali have done, if Link hadn’t charged in? What would he have done, if he’d had no backup, and no breach had been made in its armour? Is he really, truly unharmed? Link’s hand flutters helplessly, unsatisfied with mere observation; he wants to check every inch of Revali for injury, to be certain that he’s as unharmed as he claims.
That would be an overstep. He searches for a way to express the rationale behind his actions without causing further insult; his tongue is left leaden with the washed out dregs of adrenaline, and all he can muster is a dull repetition of his earlier words, “You went down,” as though saying it again would do anything to render his meaning clearer.
Revali makes a low, frustrated noise deep in his throat. He brings his wing up sharply. Instead of knocking Link’s hand away, the way Link half expects him to, Revali grips Link’s forearm, turning it to see the pink-and-red rubbed-raw flesh of Link’s palm, the cuts gouged into it from his frantic scramble to descend the cliffs. It had stopped hurting, during the fight. The pain of it is distant and detached. It doesn’t hurt as much as it looks like it ought to. Link should probably tell Revali that he’s okay. But he’s all but forgotten how to speak.
Revali’s breathing comes fast and shallow. His gaze rakes across Link.
And then —
Then Revali’s forehead drops down to press, insistently, against Link’s own, and Link’s thoughts stutter to a stop.
Warm.
His feathers are warm, both against Link’s forehead and where Revali still grips Link’s arm. His beak, a firm, rigid line against the slope of Link’s nose, is cooler but by no means cold.
Link opens his mouth. His thoughts lag behind, overwhelmed and struggling to catch up; and though he hasn’t spoken a word, Revali still says, “Shut up,” his voice half a snarl and half something else, something indecipherable. Link refrains from speaking. A strange, fallow silence builds between them, disturbed only by the occasional questioning chirp from the chick where it’s held securely against Link’s chest.
An exhalation ripples from Revali’s throat. “Why,” he says, eventually, in a tone that makes it abundantly clear that Link had better not try to give him an answer, “why must you make it so difficult to dislike you.”
The words crash into Link like a blow. He scrambles for balance — But I don’t want you to dislike me — and the truth of that hits him like he’s been struck, full in the chest, with the hammer he’d dropped:
…Oh.