Minish Hero

The Weary Traveler

A streak of lightning flashed across the young female's face as her clinking hammer drew sparks from the hot iron. (Now let me stop you right there. Who said a girl can't be a swords smith!) Unbearable heat swam out from the furnace beneath her, but she was used to this prickly pain by now. She squinted with one blue eye at the sparking sword in front of her under the mess of golden lock of long blond hair clinging to her face. Just a few more bangs into shape and it would be complete. Samantha smiled to herself. At last, she'd advanced in her sword-making apprenticeship to try making a small sword of her own, and now her hard work was about to pay off! The natural flicker of yellow light and the echoing boom from outside made her feel a bit like a mad scientist. Samantha looked down at the incomplete sword and felt an odd sense of sorrow. She remembered so long ago when she'd watched her mother make the sword to give to the champion of the Picori festival. She'd made the one this year as well, but it hadn't been the same.

That year, she'd gone on the greatest adventure of her life...and now it seemed like nothing. A part of her missed Ezlo, the old smart-Alek, and the picori she'd met along the way. It saddened her that she was beginning to grow up. She'd been seeing less and less Picori around lately.

KRAKKL! A fearsome thunderclap reminded Samantha of the present. She picked up her hammer again and turned her attention back down towards the sword. She had to finish it before the storm really picked up and her mother called her upstairs for bed. She just had to finish today!

Though a part of her wondered why she had suddenly recalled all of that just then. The Picori...Ezlo...Vaati...gathering the elements...saving the boy who was blessed with the light force from a future as a castle statue.

At last, with one last clank, it was finished! Samantha lifted the sword from the smooth surface of the anvil and admired it for a moment before slipping it into a marked slot for finished swords behind her. This was much inferior to the rest of the swords, but maybe it would be used for practicing or in a play and Samantha felt proud all the same. Someday, she hoped to be just as good a sword-smith as her mother.

Something very unusual was in the air and Samantha shivered just slightly as she gathered up the materials. Suddenly, as she was packing the tools away she heard a light thump. Probably just the wind, she thought. The heavy winds could be fierce in the middle of a big thunderstorm like this.

"Samantha!" the desperate voice of her mother called from upstairs.

"Please! Answer that door!"

Door? Someone was at the door?! Who was crazy enough to come to visit them in this weather?! Samantha's innocent blue eyes popped wide open. No...please, no...not...Link!

"I'm coming!" Samantha yelled, breaking into a panicked sprint for the door. the scraper that had been in her hands clanked and twirled to a stop on the wooden floor of the workshop. As she drew closer, the light knocking came again.

"I'm coming!" Samantha called again.

"Just hang on!" Midna was rushing down the steps behind her. Samantha scrabbled for the handle and at last, flung the door open to greet their thunderstorm visitor. But the visitor wasn't as Samantha had suspected, Link, or as Midna had suspected a homeless person looking for shelter. Samantha couldn't speak-she was in shock at the mere sight, and Midna hurried to her side in protective motherly instinct. How...? Why...? What...?

Before them stood, or rather, slumped, a familiar teenage boy. He gripped tightly to the door-casing in order to support himself. His cheeks looked hollow and bony, his thin eyebrows furrowed in pain and effort. Parts of his sleeves were ripped. The tunic was a light indigo color. His pants and sandals were red...perfectly matching his squinting eyes. He was stark pale-his skin entirely bleach white. And his long frazzled lavender hair hung over his ears and covered his right side of his face.