Sua-the-owl

The French, Italian, German, Latin, Spanish, Gaelic, Norse, And all ancestors of the precious language that we speak, Together put forth millions of words into our cause, Of every connotation, of the beautiful and bleak, And so we take those words and then we string them up like beads, Make choices without thinking of their power, Carelessly laying pavements and scattering their seeds, And make a million new born phrases every hour. So many things to say! So many ways to spell them out! From one idea, infinite phrases spring, A billion billion combinations from each and every mind, And still not time to speak of everything, Yet no sentence

Princess Zelda was becoming an increasingly violent sleeper; at first she had just twitched and mumbled, but now she thrashed and twisted her way through the nights, mumbling in the many languages she had learned, so that sometimes Impa had to lay beside her and hold onto her tightly so that she did not hurt herself. Waking her was getting harder too. Whatever was going on in her head when she closed her eyes, it had sunk its claws in and was reluctant to let go. Awake, she never spoke about it and Impa did not push or question, knowing that the Princess would not have complained no matter how large or tiny the problem, but Raegis, the exiled

Winter was going to be a serious problem. The gorons of Hyrule mainly lived on the huge, volcanic mountain that loomed over Kakariko, but the gorons of Termina occupied a far snowier peak. It was to the far North of the kingdom, and to get there with any speed they would have had to go directly through Clock Town, the largest town in Termina after the castle town. It wasn’t an option now that the king had betrayed them, but the other option was to circle wide, adding days to the journey; days in which the cold and frost could creep along after them with that slow but unstoppable pace. It was the closest Impa had ever come to defying Ze

They had to leave the horses at the edge of the swamp; they were born and bred of the rolling hills of Termina, not the wet marshes and hidden pits of the Deku domain. Still, they had done well, carrying them all the way to the North edge of the Kingdom in a little over a week, and they fetched a good price at the last human village before the murk. Impa liked the swamp; her supplies were getting low, but places like these were perfect for finding the herbs, seeds and roots she needed. Zelda idly knotted and unknotted reeds while she watched the Sheikah work in an iron pot over the fire, which was giving off a smell so sharp it made her nose

Zelda’s hands shook as she gripped the cup of water. They had been shaking constantly for days. She went to take a sip, but caught sight of her own reflection – it still took her by surprise, even after nearly a week of excellent care – and looked up instead, meeting the steady eyes of King Eilon. She had just finished telling him the full story, from Ganon’s first invitation to the palace, through his betrayal and her escape right up until the moment she had burst into Eilon’s dining hall. She had omitted only a few things – her possibly prophetic dreams, the Triforce burned into her hand (something she ha

They shared the large bathtub; a month ago Princess Zelda would never have dreamed of being naked in anybody’s company, but more and more as she was offered all the comforts of a royal residence she realised how little she had appreciated them before, and how much she had changed. She was suddenly impressed by things she had been used to all her life. The tub had to be refilled four times before Zelda and Impa were both clean. The water, almost painfully hot, worked to ease their muscles as they both lay submerged up to their necks breathing the sweet scent of the rich herbal candles lining the room. Zelda tried to take inventory of her