He picks up on rhythms easily, almost too easily. Everything has a rhythm, and walking is no different. Breathe in, breathe out; heartbeat steady; well-worn boots crunching softly, so softly, against the grass. His pack shifts with the motion, side to side, in and away. It isn't as resonating as his drum, but he doesn't care. It's steady just the ( Read more... )

[When Link opens his eyes, he finds himself extremely disappointed; this isn't the Twilight. If anything, it looks eerily similar to the outer edges of the Sacred Grove, the soul-swallowing forest where he's been practicing using this mask for last year. The same place he came from to begin with ( Read more... )