It was easy to believe that the events of the day prior were merely a dream. That Sheik was still lying prone and wounded at the edge of the forest which he had barely survived, and that the warmth, the soft feeling the farmgirl Malon offered him was a concocture of his unconscious, fever-addled mind. He should know better, and it should have been fictitious, that he would be rescued by such a gentle and kind soul as Malon, with her aura that shone invitingly like the yellow light of her lamp. With that and her deep brown eyes, light brown skin, and pretty auburn hair… she was all honest colours. True and dependable, like the earth she tended as was her livelihood. Even in the pale dawn, awaking in the hayloft above the braying animals’ stalls, he was almost convinced she was little more than a comforting vision. The doubt was quenched only by the fact that he was still fortified by the slightly magical tonic she had given him, which was surely a rare luxury for the rancher, and that the memory of her steady hands and melodious voice was far too acute in his mind to have merely been a figment of his imagination. 

Yet still, in a moment of indulgence, Sheik breathed deeply and closed his eyes, momentarily snuffing out his physical sight to instead reach out through his spiritual third eye; his Eye of Truth, as his people called it. He extended his senses past the limits of his own body, then his mind, then his soul, passed over small lights that were the farm animals, as well as the little critters that made their homes in the barn uninvited. Beyond the barn, he sensed her quickly, finding her rich aura like a beacon in all the open, rolling fields. The hum of the earth was steady out in the farmlands, there was no such thing as silence when Sheik sought this way, but with no other bigger living souls around to be washed away by, hers was like a bonfire lighting up a dark abyss. It was strong enough that Sheik thought even amongst a city of people, he would be able to pick her soul out from the raging sea of them. It was remarkable.

He returned to himself as he felt Malon approaching the barn. The doors opened with a noisy creak that echoed off the old, drafty walls, and the bright light of sunrise spilled across the floor. Sheik crept to the edge of the loft, watching Malon enter with empty buckets in hand. There was a bright smile on her face, and she greeted the animals quietly, but cheerfully. She deposited the buckets against the wall and in a swift, well practiced routine, fed the animals and replenished their water. Then, taking in hand a short wooden stool and the first of her empty buckets, she entered the cow stall at the very back of the barn, and was out of sight.

Sheik picked his way down the ladder, far more cautious in his descent than he was yesterday, as his torn side flared in pain with his every movement. He breathed through it, attempting to numb himself to it, and sank into the shadows, letting go of his pain as he became one with them, just as his master taught him. Silently, he approached the stall where Malon worked. He watched her, hunched over on the stool, reaching under the cow to pull the morning’s milk from her udders with both hands. She hummed under her breath, the soft sound lost more often than not under the noise of the jet of milk hitting the bottom of the bucket. 

“Good morning, Malon,” Sheik said. Malon shrieked and jolted, disturbing the animals. She twisted in her seat, looking at Sheik with wide eyes, a milk-stained hand pressed against her chest. 

“Goddess above!” She gasped. Sheik remained still at the entrance to the stall. It may have been a tad dramatic to appear like this in his full garb, considering the vulnerable state Malon met him in, but it would always feel unnatural not to cover himself this way as long as he was away from his home village. “You scared the life out of me just now! I thought you would have left already.”

Sheik tilted his head. “I can not leave without my sword, remember?”

Malon flushed, her gaze darting to the side. “O-oh, yes, of course.” She stood, wiping her hands on her apron. She took a half-step towards him, then faltered. A small smile twitched to life under Sheik’s mask; she seemed to go from bold to bashful and back again in a continuous, self conscious sort of dance. “Uhm, did you sleep well?”

“As well as I could,” Sheik responded honestly. Malon nodded, glancing at his wounded side, the bandages from last night showing under the tears in his shirt.

“Do you feel ill at all?”

“No, thank you,” Sheik said. “Please, do not concern yourself over me, or let me keep you from your work. I shall be out of your way, I’m sure you have much to do.”

Malon returned to her stool with a smile. “It’s alright,” she said sunnily. “You don’t have to make yourself scarce. I do like spending time with the animals, but it’s not always as nice as human company.”

“I’m sure,” Sheik said. He stepped further into the stall, and Malon resumed her work, pulling at the cow’s udders in an expert, practised rhythm. 

Sheik himself was familiar with solitude, perhaps overly familiar. Most of his time was spent travelling alone, and even when he did make himself known in towns or the nearby capital, drawing a crowd with his music, he did not mingle, or linger long amongst people. Even to share a bed with friendly girls he’s encountered on his travels, he revealed little of himself, though that was for a variety of reasons, and he would always be gone before sunrise. Not that any of those girls expected differently, of course. He was not deceitful, though he could acknowledge the irony of that claim.

For a brief moment, Sheik wondered what Malon would expect, if they were to lay together, if he offered to thank her for her help with more than a song. He quickly banished that line of thought, however, sure Malon, who seemed like the pure, sheltered sort of farmgirl, would not appreciate him painting a lewd picture of her in his mind. Instead, he focused on observing her work.

Malon noticed his curious watching. “Have you ever milked a cow before?” She asked, working smoothly even while she spoke. Sheik shook his head.

“I haven’t.”

“Well, maybe I can show you when you’re healed up a little better, if you want.” Malon’s grin faltered when she realized the implications of what she said. “Oh, sorry! I don’t mean to get ahead of myself. I’m sure you’ll be leaving as soon as you’re able.”

Sheik looked at her meaningfully. “As soon as I have my sword.”

Malon paused, looking down. “Right…” she said haltingly. “Uhm, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you a prisoner here… but I won’t tell you where I put it, yet. Just-- I don’t think you should be going back out into the wilds in your condition. And I know I know little about you, actually, I know almost nothing, so it’s silly for me to be worried about you but I am, Sheik. Please, will you stay a little longer, until you’re healed enough to travel safely?”

Sheik considered her for a long moment, taking in the way she couldn’t meet his eyes, and grasped fistfuls of her apron in her wringing hands. He sensed no dishonesty from her, just as he hadn’t the night before when she first asked him to stay one more day. 

One more day… then one day more. After that, who knows? It was far too enticing. Dangerous, even, to let himself be beckoned this way. For the time being, he could use the wisdom behind Malon’s words as an excuse, and rest more, like he knew he should. But he would soon have to come to his senses.

“Very well,” He murmured. “I appreciate your concern. It is very kind of you to harbour me this way even though I am a stranger.”

Malon shrugged, returning to her task. “You don’t have to be a stranger,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “You could tell me a little more about yourself.”

Sheik leaned back against the wooden beam, turning his head so his eyes were obscured by his long bangs. “Very well,” he repeated. “What should I tell you?”

“Well,” Malon drew the word out. “You could tell me who you are and where you’re from, where you’re going. Why you have that odd sword and why it’s so important. Why you’re dressed the way you are, and what that eye on your shirt means. You could tell me why your eyes are red, or what your name means. You could tell me where you got that harp, or what you dream of, or your fears… anything.” 

Sheik looked away. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you any of those things. I am sorry.” 

A moment passed in subdued quiet. Malon looked deep in thought. “I guess you must have your reasons for secrecy,” she said. “What about… your favourite song? Could you tell me that?”

Sheik straightened. “I could play it for you, if you like?”

Malon’s answering smile was bright. “I like.”

Quickly, masking and burying the pain created by nimble movements that normally came so naturally to him, Sheik fetched his harp from his pack. Actually choosing one single favourite song was difficult, as there were many he favoured for many different reasons, but that didn’t really matter, because as soon as Malon requested it, he knew which song to play for her. One taught to him years ago by his first real friend. A simple tune of innocence and joy, of youthful curiosity, that made Sheik think of blessed green forests protected by spirits. 

He played while Malon worked, moving through the cow’s stalls and steadily filling the buckets with milk. His eyes tracked the pleased smile that graced her lips, already committing it to memory so he could have it with him on future cold nights spent alone.

It didn’t take long for Malon to collect the day’s milk to be bottled up and sold, as the small ranch had less than ten cows. On her way out, she promised to bring Sheik some food and water as soon as she was able. Once the barn doors closed behind her, Sheik was alone with the animals once more. 

Sheik looked around the simple, rustic structure. All shut tight, it was dark inside the barn, the blanket of shadows only broken by strips of light seeping through the gaps in the walls. He traced the smooth, golden edge of his harp and sighed. 

He ought to begin searching for his blade, but… there was another precious thing that had been lost for much longer. Playing the song of the woods had brought deep, forlorn nostalgia, a feeling which had been cutting through his mental defences more and more as of late. A yearning for a simpler, happier time long past. It had been at least a moon, maybe two, since Sheik last reached out in hopes of finding his old friend, the boy from the forest, the hero chosen by their goddess, fated wielder of the Master Sword, Link. 

He chose to first perform his daily prayer. Malon had advised him not to use the water the horses and cows drink from. While it would not do to wash with, any water may suffice for holy purposes, no matter how dirty. Sheik cupped some in his hands, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of each drop seeping through his fingers. He raised his hands above his head, as if offering the water up to the sky, and softly recited the prayer. 

The Goddess Hylia’s presence wasn’t as strong there as it was in the holy springs, but Sheik could feel Her all around and within him always. She was never not within his reach. His Master believed that of all the vessels of Her light that came before, Sheik was the most powerful in many ages. His Master said that his mother’s connection to the goddess had been weak and tenuous, but his was as strong as the great bridge built in Hylia’s name itself. 

It was because of that connection that Sheik’s and Link’s destinies were intertwined. Sheik only hoped that thread would be strong enough to find Link again. It never had been before, but maybe it would today. 

He found the darkest corner of the barn and sank into the proper meditation position, his harp laid in his lap. Just as he’d done earlier, Sheik reached out with his eye of truth, only this time he stretched his senses much farther than just the ranch. He reached past the forests and fields, villages and towns, past Castle Town. Past rivers and mountains and mass graves. Sheik knew Link was out there, somewhere beyond the limits of his Sight. All that meant was that he would have to reach past those as well.

After finishing collecting and preparing the milk, Malon fetched some fresh eggs and used them to cook breakfast for Ingo and herself. It would be nice if she could make a proper meal for Sheik as well, who she was sure must be hungry, but with Ingo’s looming presence and knowing how furious he would be to find the mysterious traveller hidden on the ranch-- an outsider, an intruder, an interloper, a stranger, a threat, a leech, a parasite-- discretion was key. Malon silently seethed as she set the table, only then hearing Ingo’s heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. 

Ingo’s mere existence was such a torment on her mind that sometimes thinking about it all made her feel physically ill and close to tears. She’d known him for years and years, since he came to work on their ranch when she was a little girl, but she never held any fondness for him. Once, back before the demon king seized Hyrule castle, she’d asked her pa why they still had Ingo around when already she was better at the work than him and he had such a lousy temper. He confessed he didn’t enjoy Ingo’s company either, but they couldn’t afford to let him go only because Ingo could read and write, a skill neither Malon, her pa, or any other farmer they knew possessed. Nowadays, that didn’t really matter as much, but while Malon had every reason and will to chase Ingo off the ranch for good, she didn’t have the power to do so. 

Her pa died years ago, now, and Ingo had since controlled the ranch with a steely cruelty not unlike how the demon king ruled their kingdom. He treated her like a servant on a good day, or like she was an animal herself on a bad day. Despite how humiliating it was, she still couldn’t stop herself from flinching every time he raised his voice. And even though it was her family name on the ranch, not Ingo’s, and even though she was older than seventeen and thus recognized as an adult in the eyes of the kingdom, she couldn’t challenge him for ownership of the ranch unless she had a husband. 

Malon was only just able to stash some wrapped bread and cheese in her pockets before Ingo came stomping into the kitchen. 

Ingo’s bristly moustache twitched over his scowl as he sat down in front of his plate. “You burned ‘em again,” he grumbled. Malon suppressed her sigh, mumbling a soft, halfhearted sorry, sir. She ate her own breakfast quickly, scarfing down the perfectly fine eggs and smearing some fresh butter on a slice of bread from a loaf that was almost stale. She was in a hurry— there was still a lot to do to prepare for winter, and Malon wanted to make sure she had time to spend with Sheik again. 

As soon as she was finished Malon fled the table with a clatter of dishes and a rushed excuse me, zipping out the door. Outside, she cast a lingering look at the barn. Normally in the morning, she would let the cows and horses out into the pasture for as long as there was daylight, and that would have given her the perfect chance to check on Sheik right then. But she didn’t have time today. It took too long for her to bring the animals back inside by herself, and she would need all the daylight she could get if she wanted to finish the garden before the frost came. With the bread and cheese weighing down her pockets like bricks, Malon regretfully entered the garden shed instead. 

Hours passed while Malon’s knees grew sore, hunched over the gardens that stretched along the side of the house. It didn’t help that Ingo frequently interrupted her work to order her around, demanding that she come inside and clean the dishes, then fix lunch, then the dishes again. All the while, she was distracted by the invisible force constantly pulling her attention back to the barn. Her eyes would trail over to it, and her frustration grew every time she had to stop her body from following. By the time she was finally able to pause, in between mixing new fertilizer into the soil and planting their winter veggies, it was late afternoon. 

Malon tried wiping as much dirt from her hands on her apron as she could, but there wasn’t much to be done for the earth caked under her nails. She collected two buckets of water from the well, and, making sure Ingo wouldn’t see through the window, quickly fixed her hair in her reflection in the water. 

When she shouldered her way into the barn, she was greeted by the animal’s usual noise, and the faint playing of Sheik’s harp. She found him tucked away in the back corner of the barn, hidden from direct view of the door, slouched across the stacks of hay bales. He was gently, almost absentmindedly plucking at the harp’s strings, creating a slow, morose melody. 

“Sorry to leave you for so long,” Malon placed the buckets down, one adorned with a rag, and the other with an old tin cup. “Here,” she offered him the two handfuls of food, and Sheik paused his playing, his eyes sliding over to her. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, accepting the food. He tugged his mask under his chin and bit into the bread. 

“There’s some water to drink, and some to wash with, if you like,” Malon gestured to the buckets. Sheik just gave a small nod. Malon shuffled on her feet, tugging uncertainly on the tails of the bandana around her neck. “Sorry it’s not much,” she said, “I’ll bring you more tonight, as soon as I can.”

“You needn’t apologize,” Sheik muttered around a bite of cheese. “You’ve done more than enough, thank you.”

“Oh,” Malon said. “Alright…” 

It was obvious Sheik was not feeling talkative. The purple marks under his eyes were even darker than that morning, and his shoulders had a sullen slump to them. Despite his reassurance, Malon worried she’d upset him. Her voice was embarrassingly high as she bade him well and retreated from the barn, her heart racing and palms sweating. She tried to steady her breath. 

Malon felt like she had an itch that hadn’t been scratched well enough.