home to stay
The wolf runs.
Four’s slight weight bounces on his shoulders, every stride threatening to throw him clear. With the wolf’s gait jolting his broken leg and sending him into a half-faint, his usually-excellent balance is shot. The wolf isn’t going to begrudge him the tight grip he has on his neck fur.
(But the sooner they outrun these bokoblins, the better.)
If he could find somewhere defensible - somewhere he could let Four slide off his back, and round on their pursuers with bristling teeth and claws - the problem would be easily solved. He’s well used to fighting monsters, and even doing so while protecting an injured friend.
But no. The ground is flat, the trees are sparse, and the underbrush is not nearly thick enough to be protective. There is nowhere he could leave him that wouldn’t risk a bokoblin slipping past.
So the wolf runs.
The area is unfamiliar. If he knew it better perhaps he’d have better luck gauging which shadowed trail winding through the trees would serve them best, and since he doesn’t it’s all up to random chance. He takes a left, and a right, and feels frustration boiling up as the trees clear further. There’s an open area just ahead, but maybe on the other side of it the foliage will be thicker -
He leaps over a fallen log, takes two loping strides, and stops short halfway across the clearing.
Wild stands across from them, with a strung bow and a surprised expression.
Except it’s not Wild. Not unless he’s cut his hair and found a copy of the tunic he’d had to make into a patchwork after a lynel destroyed one shoulder (or so he claims). He’s also watching the wolf with a wary expression, slowly lifting one hand to the quiver on his back, and Wild had never feared him from the first moment they locked eyes -
This isn’t Wild. Not yet.
The wolf is distracted from this unwelcome realisation by the equally unwelcome reminder of pursuit.
Loud chattering from behind them gets louder as the first bokoblin clears the trees, and the wolf turns and snarls. Four ducks his head to protect his throat - at least he hopes that’s what it is and he’s not right on the verge of fainting -
Something whistles past him. The wolf leaps sideways in startlement, though it had been a good foot away, and watches as the lead bokoblin collapses over backwards with an arrow in its throat. The two behind it follow in quick succession. The last two are more wary, pausing at the tree line to squint suspiciously at their fallen brethren - already smoking away into malice - but the sight of their quarry right in front of them distracts them. One lunges, club held high, and stumbles as the arrow strikes it in the ribcage. It whirls on the archer with a snarl and catches the next one in the eye, dropping instantly.
The last bokoblin looks like it’s thinking real hard about maybe being somewhere else. The wolf ups his snarl, takes a stiff-legged step forwards -
It breaks and flees, squealing the whole way.
A ringing silence settles.
The wolf turns, now that the monsters have been dealt with, to look at Wild-not-Wild. He ducks his head, lowers his shoulders, flattens his bristling fur as best he can - not aggressive, not aggressive, please don’t lash out if he does it might hurt Four, still barely conscious on his back -
He doesn’t. The bow is held low, and there’s no arrow in his other hand.
“Easy,” he murmurs, low and smooth, “easy now. Not gonna hurt you, not gonna hurt your buddy. That’s what he is, right? Your buddy? You were just trying to get him away from the bokoblins. That’s fair, they’re cruel little bastards. But it looks like he’s hurt, huh? Think I can take a look? Not gonna hurt you. Not gonna make any sudden moves.”
Spirits. Even his voice is different. Stressing the wrong syllables, lilting where it should be firm. Unsettled. Unpractised.
But even now - trapped in the past, in the shape of a wolf - Twilight trusts him.
As slow as he can make it the wolf lowers himself to the ground and thumps his tail in friendly welcome. Four whimpers despite his attempt to avoid jostling him.
“That a good sign? You saying you’re okay with me?” Wild-not-Wild-fuck-Link inches closer, clearly not taking his welcome for granted.
He wags his tail harder. He wants to pant, let his tongue loll out and look silly and relaxed, but that’s not always happy sometimes that’s stressed. And Link needs to get close if he’s going to help, and he can’t do that if he’s worried a wolf is going to rip his throat out any second.
Or maybe he would. This is Wild, after all.
He crouches beside them, seemingly fearless, and looks over the mess of Four’s leg. He winces at the blood and the way it hangs at an angle. “Ah. The bokoblins around here have been experimenting with spring traps. Dunno where they got the idea, and I hope they lose interest soon, but… looks like you got caught in one. Probably hurts, huh? Think I’ve got something for that…”
He turns to rummage in the satchel at his side. The wolf cocks his head. He can see the Slate, tied to his belt with a bit of leather thong. Yet Link is storing things in a physical bag.
…how early are they?
Four tries to push himself up. Slumps back against the back of the wolf’s neck with a groan and a full-body shudder. The wolf twists round to look at him with a whine. His vision’s not as good in this form, colour washed out and dull - but there’s no missing that Four is white as a sheet.
“Don’t go passing out on me now,” Link says, too-calm. He gently presses against Four’s wrist to shift it; Four resists, clinging harder.
“Yeah, you did a great job not falling off, but now I need you to drink this for me, okay? It’ll make you feel better.”
Four growls between gritted teeth. “Not a child.”
“Of course not, you’re very grown up, you’ve got a sword and everything,” Link says patiently.
Four opens his mouth to snarl and gets a mouthful of cherry-flavoured elixir, which was likely the goal in the first place. While he splutters and coughs, Link has scooted back some, not quite out of reach but far enough he would have a head start if the wolf lunged at him.
He thumps his tail some more.
When Four’s got his breath back Link moves in again. “You ready to try again? I can help you sit up if you need-”
Four snatches it away from him and drinks the whole thing in two gulps. Then he slumps against warm fur, gasping and grimacing as his leg begins the tedious process of knitting itself back together.
Elixir delivered, Link rocks back on his heels.
“Are you on you own? Is there somewhere I can take you, somewhere safe?”
“Got separated,” Four says, still short and gasping. “Meant to meet the others. Got - ambushed. Fuckin’ bokoblins,” he adds, a little more fluidly.
The wolf thumps his tail in agreement.
Link frowns. “Where were you supposed to meet them? There’s not really any good landmarks around here…”
Beautifully on cue, a whistle cuts through the air. It’s made thin and faint by distance, but the wolf’s head snaps up eagerly at the first fluttering tone.
That them? Link smiles wryly.
Yeah, says Four, as the wolf clambers to his feet, grabbing hold of his neck ruff again to keep from getting dislodged. “Do you - you could come with us. If you wanted.”
“Nah. If you know where you’re going - I have other places I need to be.”
The wolf can smell the lie on him. But if Link isn’t ready for other people, doesn’t trust a group he hasn’t met - that’s up to him. But he helped them. He shoves his nose against Link’s hand, roughly affectionate, the spins and dashes off as Four yelps and swears at him, scrambling to get his balance with a leg that still aches with the memory of pain.
Link laughs as they vanish into the trees.
- - -
Less than a month later, Link finds himself wandering a different set of woods.
He’s made progress. He’s freed a Divine Beast, and the spirit of its Champions with it; he’s hunted down the monsters harassing a small village; he’s made the long journey to Hateno Village on the advice of the not-familiar old woman from Kakariko, and gotten only more questions for his trouble.
He’s found a ‘memory’ that feels like it belongs to someone else.
(He feels more lost than ever.)
He’s distracted, is the point, so maybe he can be forgiven for not coming to attention the moment he hears a sound out of place. Metal on metal.
He’s deep in the forest, and the light clinking doesn’t sound like armour scraping against itself, or a loose weapon’s rattle. It’s curiosity, more than anything, that makes him look up, and catch a glimpse of grey slipping through the trees.
A wolf - a familiar wolf, precise pale markings scribed on its forehead and muzzle. It’s moving slow, tail down, head low, limping where a thick manacle is fastened around one leg. It’s the still-fastened chain that’s making the clinking sound. And now that he’s paying attention, Link can hear the wolf whining, making a low, near-continuous awoo-oo-oo sound as if to itself.
There is no brightly-dressed child on their back, or walking alongside.
His heart hurts.
Link changes trajectory to meet the wolf’s, and reaches out when he gets close.
“Been a while, huh?”
He snatches his hand back as it whirls on him. It gives a brief, wild-eyed snarl before it recognises his scent, or maybe just realises he isn’t holding a weapon - Link has no idea how good a wolf’s memory is, or how well it had processed him at the time. It’s not attacking, though, or fleeing, like every other wolf or coyote he’s ever seen. (Ever remembered seeing.)
He shakes himself. “Hey. Why are you alone, huh? You lose your buddy?”
The wolf droops, somehow managing to look even more miserable. Its too-blue, too-human eyes look up at Link, and he can’t believe he’s imagining the pain he sees there. It’s too familiar. Too real.
“I lost something too. Maybe if we stick together, we’ll both find them.”
This time when he reaches out, the wolf doesn’t flinch from his touch.
- - -
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