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The trees are singing. Malon doesn't know much about anything, but if she did, it would be about listening to the world. To the humming crickets and the murmuring brooks and the ear-bleeding shrieks of a newborn calf. And today, the trees are singing. Their branches sway with an unheard music, leaves rustling in tune with the birds. One wise - but curmudgeonly - old oak stands firm, refusing to dance along.
Malon all but prances to the barn, because that's just the kind of day that it is. The earth demands her movement, and who is she to question it?
And it helps, too, that the ranch is finally back to normal. Ingo has become kind and understanding. He's arguably more pleasant than he's ever been, treating the horses with the respect they deserve. Dad helps with the chores, and life is just… better. After Ingo’s strange takeover and cruel treatment, after years of watching the ranch - the passion and life’s work of her mother - fall into a chaotic mess of fear and anger, peace has finally returned to Lon Lon Ranch. She has every reason to be happy.
The cows greet Malon with a chorus of “moo”s as she pushes the barn door open. There’s a rogue whinny and a stray cluck here and there, but the cows hold domain over the barn, and they’re not afraid to make that known.
Malon doesn’t speak to the cows, because they’re cows. They don’t understand her, even if sometimes it feels like they do. Instead, she hums her mom’s song. Music is universal.
The morning chores are tedious and uneventful. Filling troughs, milking cows, scattering feed, breaking down hay bales. Dad and Ingo took the wagon out to Castle Town to sell milk and eggs, so it’s up to Malon to get the chores done by herself. But that’s no problem at all; Malon has been doing this since she was a kid.
By the time she’s finished morning chores, the sun is creeping above the horizon. With no clouds in the sky, it’s bound to be a hot day. Absently, Malon hopes it rains. There’s a fence that needs fixing this afternoon, and dampening the ground would make removing the post that much easier.
It’s as she’s caught up in this thought that a familiar neigh catches her attention. She quickly turns and sees a horse by the house, rearing in distress. But it’s not just any horse.
“Epona!” Malon darts forward, heart thudding in her ears. As she approaches, she sings Epona’s song. Her mom’s song.
Epona remembers. Of course she does. She calms in an instant, dropping down and trotting over to Malon.
“Hey, easy, girl,” Malon hums, gently taking Epona’s reins and stroking the horse’s neck. “What is it?” Horses can’t understand Malon much more than cows can, but she tries talking anyway. “What’s wrong? Where’s…?”
Fairy Boy. Epona had taken to him so well that Malon felt bad keeping them apart. She’d trusted him to care for the horse. But now here’s Epona with no Fairy Boy. So where is he?
Malon squints against the sun, looking across the field and the corral. She doesn’t see him.
“Epona, where is he?” she asks gently, still petting the horse reassuringly. “Where’d Fairy Boy go?”
Epona whinnies softly, bumping her head against Malon’s hand.
And then Malon’s stomach drops to her boots. She almost misses it. Fairy Boy’s clothes blend in with the grass. But now that she sees him - now that she sees the glowing light flying frantic circles around him - she can’t not see him. Her fairy boy is collapsed on the path leading up to Lon Lon Ranch’s entrance, and he isn’t moving an inch.
Malon jumps on Epona and leans forward in the saddle, sucking her teeth. The horse takes off like a shot, and within thirty seconds, Epona is stopped next to Fairy Boy. Malon swings her leg over Epona’s back and jumps down, sliding to her knees.
“Fairy Boy!” she yells, shaking his shoulders. He doesn’t look good, skin ashen and tunic stained a foreboding red.
“Oh, thank the goddesses!”
Malon freezes. She’s heard that voice before. It’s high-pitched and squeaky and generally unpleasant, but it’s familiar.
“Hel…lo?” Malon looks up, trying to find the source of the sound.
And then the blue light circling Fairy Boy flies into her face, frantic and sudden and desperate. “You have to help!”
Malon squints, trying to distance the light - the fairy, she realizes - from her face. “Back up. I can’t see.”
“Sorry!” The fairy is nothing if not loud.
Without the light in her face, Malon can study Fairy Boy closer. The red stain is accompanied by a large slash in his tunic, blood-drenched bandages hidden underneath. “Oh no,” Malon gasps, looking from Fairy Boy to the house. It’s not too far, but for an unconscious person, it’s a pretty long distance.
“He was hurt,” the fairy continues. “And he bandaged it up and said he felt fine, but it got worse. We were on our way to Castle Town to find help when he fell off Epona.”
Hurt doing what? Malon wonders, but she can’t waste time on the details.
“Fairy Boy!” she shouts again, pinching him hard. His eyes flutter open, and he watches her in confusion.
“You scared me half to death!” the fairy shrieks. Malon was about to say the same thing.
“Come on,” Malon says instead. “We need to get you inside. Can you walk?”
Fairy Boy seems to understand, reaching out for Malon’s hand, and she helps pull him up. Then she braces him against her side, pulling his arm over her shoulders. He walks alright, but Malon is doing a fair bit of work keeping him up. It’s a good thing she lugs hay bales around all day. She’s grateful for the extra strength in her arms and legs.
“Still okay?” They’re halfway to the house now, and Fairy Boy’s movements are getting sluggish, boots dragging through the dirt. She’s never seen him so disoriented and… weak.
But he nods, his concentration never drifting from the task at hand.
“Okay,” Malon agrees, though she doesn’t believe him. Not for a second. “Just a bit farther.”
They struggle the rest of the way, and with no free hands, Malon kicks the door open, practically dragging Fairy Boy into the house. She starts to pull him to the stairs when he slips off her shoulders, falling hard against the wall.
“Hey!” Malon kneels down, patting the fairy boy’s cheek. It’s clammy and gross. “Wake up.”
Obedient to a fault, Fairy Boy wakes up, looking groggier and less aware than he was just minutes before.
“Fairy Boy,” Malon says, trying to keep his attention. “Stay right here, okay? I’m going to grab supplies.” Then she looks at the fairy, still fluttering agitatedly. “Watch him. I’ll be right back.”
Malon takes the steps two at a time, then throws the door to the bedroom open. It’s a sparse room, so it takes no time at all to find the wash basin, towels, and her sewing kit. She moves as quickly as she can with water in one hand and needles in the other.
“Still here,” she calls as she descends the stairs. “I’m still here, Fairy Boy.”
“Hear that? She’s coming right back, Link!” the fairy assures its boy. But it looks like he fell asleep again.
Malon sets the supplies down on the floor and sits beside Fairy Boy. She wastes no time in removing his belts and shedding the tunic. He’s uncooperative at best, but Malon isn’t taking no for an answer.
The bandages look worse now that they’re uncovered. They’re wrapped around Fairy Boy’s stomach, and they’re almost completely saturated with red. Malon can’t even tell where the blood is stemming from, so she cuts the bandages off.
The wound is long and deep, cutting diagonally from his navel up to his right side. Though Fairy Boy may have cleaned the wound initially, the bandages smeared blood across his whole abdomen. Malon presses towels to the still-bleeding wound while she tries to think of her next move. She’s faced injuries like these before, but never to such an extent. Cutting her hand on a sickle or getting her skin caught in the fence are practically nothing compared to… whatever this is.
“How did this happen?” she asks the fairy.
“There was a dark shadow… an evil reflection of Link. They fought, and Link won, but… barely.”
“Link,” she repeats. “That’s his name?”
“Yes.”
Malon looks at her fairy boy again. The name just doesn’t fit him. It feels unnatural.
Taking a breath, Malon opens her sewing kit and threads a needle. Then she watches Fairy Boy, waiting for him to wake up. He doesn’t, and Malon hopes he stays asleep long enough for her to do this. Carefully, but quickly, Malon slides the needle under his skin, sliding the thread through and tying a knot, pulling each side of the wound together. She clips the thread and repeats the process. With the size of the injury, this might take a while.
“And you’re his fairy?” Malon asks, though the answer is obvious.
“Yes, I’m Navi. The Great Deku Tree tasked me with guiding Link during his adventure.”
“Hello, Navi,” Malon says warmly, eyes never straying from the needle. “I’m Malon.”
“What… um… What are you doing?”
Malon finds her hands shaking, and she pauses for a moment to breathe. Then she wipes away fresh blood and continues stitching. “I’m sewing his wound back up. It should slow the bleeding.”
“Oh.” Navi flutters over to Fairy Boy’s face, though Malon can tell the fairy is looking at the stitches. “Hylians have such strange ways of healing. If I’m being honest, it sounds a bit cruel.”
“Oh, it feels cruel too,” Malon promises. Just thinking about the time she was attacked by a horde of cuccos makes her wince. “But in the end, it helps way more than it hurts. And right now, he needs it.”
“I’ll… take your word for it.”
For a long stretch of time, neither Malon nor Navi speak. Malon, because she’s trying to keep steady as she ties off stitch after stitch, and Navi, because she’s worried. Or that’s Malon’s guess. It’s hard to get a read on a winged ball of light, but Navi spoke so earnestly to Fairy Boy. She talked with such concern in her voice. Malon would be remiss to ignore it.
Finally, on stitch forty-three, someone breaks the silence. But it’s not Malon. It’s not Navi. No, Fairy Boy has graced them with his awareness, and his first instinct is to cry out and push away the person stabbing him with a needle.
“Whoa,” Malon soothes, not unlike how she’d calm a horse. “Easy, Fairy Boy.” She quickly puts the needle down and grabs his cold, weak hands. “I’m stopping the bleeding, but I need you to stay still.”
The fairy boy blinks a few times, eyes still hazy but marginally less groggy. He slumps back against the wall, fingers curling around Malon’s hands. He doesn’t notice the blood - his blood - on her hands. He just finds comfort in the touch and lingers in it.
But now Malon is acutely aware of her dirty hands. She pulls free from his grip and returns to the needle. “Just stay still, okay? This is going to hurt.”
Fairy Boy whines and groans through the final series of stitches, but he doesn’t try to push Malon away anymore. He just grits his teeth, muscles twitching as he tries to remain still.
“Done,” Malon announces with the last stitch. “It’s done. We’re finished.” She grabs a cloth, dunks it in the basin, and gently wipes away the blood from the fairy boy’s skin. Then she wraps new bandages around the wound, securing it with a pin. And all the while, she murmurs meaningless platitudes. “It’s okay” and “We’re almost done” and “You’re doing great.”
When she’s finally, truly done, Malon scrubs her hands clean and then fishes one of her father’s shirts from the armoire. It’s too big for Fairy Boy, but Malon isn’t ruining fresh bandages with a dirty, stained tunic. She helps it over the fairy boy’s head before coaxing him into drinking some Lon Lon milk. He needs strength if he’s to replenish the blood he lost.
“You know a lot about this stuff.” The fairy had been quiet for so long that Malon forgot she was there.
“I grew up on a ranch.” Malon shrugs. “Bumps and bruises are part of the job.”
“Well… thank you. You didn’t have to, so… thank you.”
“It’s the least I could do.” Malon cleans up her sewing kit and dumps the dirty basin water out the window. “Fairy Boy brought peace back to the ranch.”
“He’s good at that.”
Malon smiles softly, returning to Fairy Boy’s side. “Hey, still awake?”
Fairy Boy tips his head to the left, then the right. It’s an uncertain gesture, like he’s still hovering halfway between consciousness and the alternative.
“You’re not sure,” Malon interprets. “That’s okay. I bet you’re pretty confused, huh?” She presses a palm to his forehead. (Still cool and clammy.) “Probably gonna take you a good while before things start making sense.”
Fairy Boy’s expression is dubious, lips drawn and one eyebrow raised.
“It’s okay.” Malon grabs a blanket from the basket and drapes it over her fairy boy. “We’ll need to get you in bed eventually, but I don’t think you’re ready for the stairs. At least, not until my dad and Ingo get back.”
But this doesn’t seem to comfort Fairy Boy. His features are etched with pain, arms guarding his stomach under the blanket.
Malon sighs. She doesn’t deal with boys often - just Dad and Ingo, really - but she deals with animals all the time. And Malon has found that - at their most vulnerable - people become just like animals. They react with the same raw emotion and are comforted by the simple things. So rather than worry, Malon sits beside Fairy Boy and sings Epona’s song.
Her mother’s song.
Malon’s dad has quite the surprise a few hours later when he comes home to find his daughter sitting next to a sleeping boy, one hand linked with his.