An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Forgot to post my piece for Residents of the Wild, a zine focused on NPCs from BotW! This is basically my silly version of the sand boots side quest from BotW. (Shoutout to @botwdialogue for documenting all the dialogue for the entire quest—that was such a helpful reference! X)
Word count: 2k
These Boots Are Made for Jogging (in the Sand)
What’s the best way for a strapping single guy to show off his lady-catching sand boots?
Jog around on the sand. Duh.
So that’s what Bozai did, day after day, circling Gerudo Town like a fashionable, sporty hawk. Sure, it was exhausting. And sweet Hylia, it was hot—even when he downed chilly elixirs around the clock. But eventually, it would all be worth it, when he caught the eye of the perfect woman.
… Right?
Bozai slowed to a stop by the southern entrance of the town, where a pair of gorgeous yet imposing Gerudo guards flanked the doorway.
“Hey,” he panted. “Nice day, isn’t it, ladies?”
The guards glared down at him.
“Move along, voe,” one of them said gruffly. “If you loiter, we’ll assume ill intent.”
Bozai laughed. “Hey, I’m not trying to sneak in—I promise! I just want to chat. Care to join me on a jog?”
“We have no interest in chatting,” the other guard said, voice cold. “We must remain at our post. Besides, we would easily outpace you. Your legs are short and stumpy.”
“Come on, ladies, that’s not very—”
But then two sharp spears were pointed right at his chest, so he had no choice but to drop it.
Bozai sighed and jogged away, trying to ignore how sore he was. He had to keep jogging. His dream girl was waiting for him! (Probably.)
He rounded the corner, and someone nearly ran into him. Someone a full head shorter than him, with long, blonde hair and big, blue eyes, and—
“Oh.” Bozai blinked. “It’s just a guy.”
A Hylian guy, with a weirdly pretty face and a slew of weapons strapped to his back. He gazed silently up at Bozai, expressionless.
“Saw me running around, huh?” Bozai shifted his backpack. “See, I heard Gerudo women liked a guy in sand boots …”
(Of course, it was the shoe salesman who told him that, but that guy had a hot wife, so Bozai would have to be an idiot not to take his advice about women.)
The stranger looked down at Bozai’s feet. “Sand boots?”
“Yeah! They let you walk normally on sand,” Bozai said proudly. “What do you think? Jealous, right?”
Blondie’s face stayed blank, like he wasn’t even impressed with Bozai’s amazing, manly, one-of-a-kind sand boots. Did he somehow miss what Bozai said? Or was he just stupid?
“Gimme those boots,” the stranger demanded.
Bozai took a step back. Okay, apparently he impressed this weirdo too much.
“Not cool!” Bozai said. “Look, these are super rare. Mayyybe I’d consider giving them to you if you were a girl, but a guy? NO.”
Blondie did not look at all deterred by Bozai’s devastating rejection. In fact, he looked kind of determined. Or maybe … amused? It was hard to tell, with that weird, stoic face of his. He was starting to creep Bozai out.
Bozai cleared his throat. “I’m busy here. Get lost!”
He pushed past the guy and resumed his jog. Man, why did he have to run into a weirdo like that? Why was it never a cute girl waiting for him around the corner?
Bozai’s eyes locked on the approaching corner of the city wall. Maybe there would be a cute girl waiting for him. What would he say to her? He should plan it out, just in case.
’Sup, girl? Name’s Bozai. But you can just call me Dream Guy. Heh.
At that point, he would run his fingers through his dark, silky locks (which were not that silky, to be honest, since his bangs were perpetually plastered to his forehead).
Ugh. That wouldn’t work. He couldn’t be suave and sexy when he was all sweaty. But where was a guy supposed to take a bath in the middle of the desert?
Bozai turned the corner and stumbled to a stop. A figure stood in his path.
A female figure.
There was no mistaking it this time. She was Hylian, but she wore the delicate silk of the Gerudo, her stomach and shoulders bare. Even with a veil covering her lower face, Bozai could tell she was beautiful.
“Sa-sa-sa … sa’votta!” he stammered. (Was that the right word? Or should it have been sav’saaba?)
The girl did not reply. She just watched him over her veil, her eyes bright and piercing. Bozai’s heart did a strange little flip.
“The name’s Bozai,” he said quickly. “I’m thirty-five, single, and I love jogging. Especially on sand.”
Not the best intro in the world, but not bad either. It was nothing that couldn’t be saved by the power of The Boots. Bozai shuffled his feet for good measure, so the beautiful stranger would be sure to look down at them.
“Nice sand-jogging!” she said.
Gotcha.
“Ah, you noticed these old things?” Bozai attempted to sweep his bangs back in a cool, carefree way, but they just clumped together awkwardly instead. He launched into a description of The Boots before the girl could decide he was lame and walk away.
“So, anyway, if you want to check them out, we could grab a quiet corner and—”
“Gimme those boots,” the girl ordered.
Bozai blinked. He must have had sand in his ears, because for a moment, she sounded almost like that weirdo from before.
The girl stared him down. She even sort of looked like him now, with those intense blue eyes and that golden-blonde hair. But Bozai was surely coming down with some sort of heat sickness—because surely this desert goddess had nothing in common with that sulky creep! (Not to mention, she was a girl.)
Bozai squinted at her against the sunlight.
“Um … well … here’s the thing …” he began.
Wait. This is a golden chance to woo her!
“I mean—sure!” he said hastily. “I’d love to give them to you, you hungry little boot monster!”
It was a cute nickname, right? Maybe that’s what he’d call her when they were married, holding hands while they jogged across all kinds of surfaces—sand, snow, grass, rock. Maybe they’d even jog over water together. Or lava! That would be extra romantic. Someone had to invent lava boots, right?
Focus, Bozai!
He straightened, standing as tall as he could in his sand boots (which, unfortunately, was not very tall. The guards were right about his legs being short and stumpy).
“But first, a favor.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Ever heard of the legend of the eighth heroine?”
Immediately, the girl was captivated.
Gotcha again, Bozai thought.
A few minutes later, he’d handed over his trusty snow boots—which he hated to do, really, but it was all in the name of love. The girl would be back in a few days, anyway, because even in snow boots, the Gerudo Highlands were treacherous. No sane person would actually scale those cliffs and hike through all that snow just to see an old statue no one was sure even existed. Pretty soon, she’d realize that she’d much rather hang out with the handsome guy in the sand boots than freeze to death.
Bozai settled under the shade of the tent at the front of the town to wait.
“See you soon, Goldie,” he whispered to himself, and then he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of blue eyes and lava boots.
Goldie was not back in a few days.
A whole week went by, and there was no sign of her. Bozai fretted and frowned and fussed, and the nerves made him even sweatier than usual. But there was nothing he could do. Had Goldie fallen off a cliff? Or turned into a beautiful, tragic ice sculpture?
Or maybe she’d just taken his boots and run off, laughing at how stupid he was for thinking he ever had a chance with her. (That one made him so depressed that he tried flirting with the guards again, if only to give him a different rejection to brood over for an hour.)
Just when he’d almost lost hope completely, a familiar pair of eyes was blinking up at him.
Bozai gasped. “Oh, thank goodness! You made it back safely!”
He was so relieved that he couldn’t even think about acting cool. Instead, he found himself confessing the lie of the eighth heroine, apologizing, blabbing about his feelings—basically, rambling like an idiot. He was on the verge of getting on his knees and swearing his allegiance as her eternal protector when she held up a hand.
“Found it.”
She was trying to make him feel better. Which was sweet, but Bozai didn’t deserve that. He tried to tell her so, but she shoved a small, rectangular something in his face.
“Look at this!”
Bozai stared. There, on the rectangle, was an impossibly realistic image of what could only be the real eighth heroine.
“That—that’s amazing!” he spluttered. And then he was rambling again, nerding out about archaeology (his secret passion, other than boots). He had almost managed to bring the subject around to the subject of eternal love—in a subtle way, of course—but Goldie had a remarkably one-track mind.
“Sand boots, please!”
Bozai’s heart sank. But he was nothing if not a man of his word, so he dutifully took off the boots and relinquished them into her waiting hands.
“Could you be a lamb and return my snow boots?” he asked. “Otherwise ol’ Bozai’s going to be barefoot!”
She looked equally reluctant to hand them over, but she did, watching wistfully as he slipped them on. Or maybe that sad look was her way of telling him that she didn’t want to say goodbye either. Well, Bozai could take that hint.
“I’m pretty tired from my jogging regimen,” he said casually. “I think I’ll take five under the tent at the front of town. Care to join me?”
She didn’t. Bozai jogged dejectedly back to the shade, feet heavy in the wrong kind of boots.
The rest of the day crawled by. Bozai didn’t feel like jogging anymore. Not when he had to do it in snow boots, which were even clunkier in the sand than regular boots. Instead, he watched for Goldie under his tent. She had to come back, right? They were practically soulmates! (Or sole-mates. Heh.)
But alas, she was nowhere to be seen. The only golden hair he spotted belonged to the blank-faced weirdo—this time, practically shirtless, with a stupid-looking ponytail on top of his head. Bozai scoffed. What kind of outfit was that? Was he trying to invent some kind of Gerudo men’s wear? As if that was gonna get him into town. Idiot.
Blondie jogged toward a stray sand seal. It darted away before he could get close.
He jogged toward another one. He looked strangely light on his feet, like the sand wasn’t slowing him down at all. Almost like …
Bozai’s eyes widened. Blondie was wearing The Boots—the amazing, manly, one-of-a-kind sand boots he had just gifted to his true love.
Bozai jumped to his feet. “Hey! You!”
Blondie froze, panic on his normally stony face. Behind him, another seal dove beneath the sand.
“Those are my boots!” Bozai shouted, trudging clumsily toward him. “Or, I mean, they were! Where did you get them?”
Quickly, Blondie pulled something out of his pocket.
And then he started glowing.
Bozai stopped short, gaping. Blondie was glowing like a blue nightshade at midnight. And soon he was also floating, the toes of his stolen boots dangling above the sand. His body dissolved away in gleaming ribbons of light. And then he was gone.
Bozai stared at the spot where Blondie had disappeared, footprints still fresh in the sand.
“Did you see that too?” he asked a nearby sand seal.
“Arf!” said the seal.
Bozai shook his head. There was only one thing to do when your almost-girlfriend was robbed by a dead-eyed, weapon-loving freak who was apparently some kind of sorcerer.
He marched back to his tent and took a nap.
