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It was beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking. Sometimes literally if he climbed too high, too fast. Everything was blanketed in a pristine layer of white, marred only by a few animal tracks here and there. The sides of mountains and cliffs looked like dark scars, with sparse trees peeking above the blanket here and there.
He could even see a large and somewhat sprawling building jutting up from an abyss that surrounded it like a moat. Did people actually live there?
Even if they didn’t, it was his best, and so far only, bet for shelter. He hadn’t even seen any caves nearby. What kind of cheap mountain range was this? His own mountain ranges were much better about that sort of thing, and he spent a solid minute grumbling about inhospitable landscapes.
He could only just make out that it was a building from here, and he didn’t have his Sheikah Slate to zoom in with either. He really wished he had it. Not only was it a comforting weight hanging from his hip, but it was probably with his pouch. If he could just change into his Snowquill set then he’d be fine.
But no. Here he was, Slate-less and pouchless, shivering away in his normal Champion’s attire, stuck up on some Naydra-forsaken mountain covered in snow.
It was beautiful, yes. And very, very cold. As the sun crawled across the sky to the horizon it would only get colder. His options were to reach the building for shelter and warmth or try and find a way down the mountain. Going down would be slow and treacherous, especially as he didn’t know the terrain. Unless he shield-surfed down…
No, no, no, that wouldn’t end well. He didn’t have Mipha around to save him anymore and he had no bags, which meant no elixirs, food, or fairies.
He would try and reach the building. It was the closest and possibly safest option.
The snow crunched under his boots, sinking down about a dozen inches with each step. It was slow going. The cook took slow, deep breaths, muttering dire imprecations as he went.
“Be worth it if there were herbs around here.”
Step.
“Or a lizard.”
Step.
“Or a ChuChu.”
Step.
“At this point…”
Step.
“I’d even take a mountain goat.”
Step.
“I hate…”
Step.
“...mountain goats.”
Step.
“Rude…”
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“...furry…”
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“...horned…”
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“...menaces.”
Step.
“The rancher…”
Step.
“...is clearly…”
Step.
“...out of his mind.”
Each step began to hurt after a while. The building looked so far away, as though he were no closer than before, and he clenched his jaw, trudging on. His shivering was increasing, and he bemoaned the loss of his Slate and pouch, and its stockpile of warmer clothing, for the umpteenth time.
His boots were soaked. His feet were still dry for now, but his toes were stinging from the cold. His fingernails were an interesting purple-blue colour. He tucked them under his armpits, wincing at the pins and needles sensation that sprung up from the movement.
The cold was bad enough, but why did it have to hurt?
Although if it didn’t hurt, would people know there was a problem? He'd been told never to fall asleep in cold weather because he would finally be warm but never wake up. The champion did not want to test that theory.
So the shivering was a good thing, no matter how annoying it was. He growled, stomping down the snow more than walking, and kept going.
It was slow and gruelling, made worse by a wind that had sprung up. The wind was thin and biting, going through his clothes as though they weren't there. His goosebumps had goosebumps at this point. What came after goosebumps?
Whatever the answer may be, he would likely find out on the way. Perhaps he would know by the time he was halfway to his destination. Whenever that would be. The building didn’t exactly look any closer even though he’d crossed quite a distance according to his now-burning muscles.
The snow made distance hard to judge so hopefully he was closer than he thought. Soft flakes whipped by. Some stuck to his skin, hair, and clothes, leaving tiny wet spots behind. As more snow fell, he became increasingly soaked, shivering more and more as the cold sunk in deeper and deeper.
The snow fell quicker and heavier, casting another blanket layer over the landscape, and making walking even more of a chore as his feet sunk down to just below his knees.
He was leaving deep furrows in his wake, each step getting slower and harder to take. It seemed as though each foot had at least doubled its weight, pulling harshly on his ankles, and he wondered if the bits of snow atop his boots really added so much.
The snow that had settled on his head and shoulders also seemed to become heavier as time went by. Whatever bits of it didn’t melt at least. A couple of cold, wet trails of water streaked down his hair, the back of his neck, and under his shirt to send chills down his spine.
Each new trail made him grit his teeth.
He looked up again.
The blasted building was moving, he’d swear it. For every step he took, the building edged away by a foot or so. There was no other explanation for why he didn’t seem to be getting any closer at all.
If only he had one shield, then he could slide down the snow and outpace the building’s retreat. Yeah, there was no way it could be faster than him while he was shield surfing! But, like with his clothes, all of his shields were stored away with the rest of his gear that he didn’t have.
“Frozen falls, crumbling cliffs, and wailing winds,” he swore, borrowing epitaphs from the other races.
His next step sunk further than he thought, and he pitched forward face-first. He flailed, quickly scrambling back to his feet, and wiping as much snow as he could off his face and front. At least the fall had knocked the snow off his head and shoulders.
That was the only good point.
It was now midafternoon. He still had time before night fell. Maybe. Hopefully.
It was getting harder to lift each foot completely clear of the snow with every step, so now there were shallow furrows between them, made by his trailing boot tips. His toes were beyond shivering, as if the snow had gotten inside and turned into blocks of ice. Every step was strange; sometimes he had to look to make sure his numb feet were where he thought they were, other times they tingled and prickled with tiny licks of white-hot pain.
That surely wasn’t good, but there was no way he was going to stop and pull off a boot to check his foot. Not until he was snuggled up safely inside that building, preferably right next to a cosy fireplace.
Wild was used to being alone, but this place made him feel unbearably lonely. There weren’t any noises apart from himself, breathing a little haggard as he trudged through the snow. No wolves, no goats, no birds. Nothing.
Surely something lived up in these snowy mountains. There had to be wildlife about. Maybe they were simply nocturnal, and he’d get to meet some creatures after the sun set. Hopefully they were the friendly sort and not the I’m going to headbutt you off this cliff or rip you limb from limb type.
A bit of the snow was moving.
A white lump slowly crept closer until he could see the dark eyes and black nose of a wolf. The inside of its mouth suddenly became visible as it opened its jaw, exposing wicked fangs. Its eyes were glowing like the embers of a fire as it growled.
Oh, so there was life up here!
What a shame it wanted to eat him.
“G-good wolf-f… You kn-now, I hav-ve a w-wolf f-friend? You d-don’t want t-to eat m-me,” he stuttered out through his shivers.
The white wolf snarled and leapt, its jaw closing around his left forearm as he moved it defensively. What he wouldn’t give for a shield to be attached to his arm instead of a wolf. It tugged, fangs tearing through clothes and skin alike, and he brought his right hand around in a fist, punching it square in the eye.
It made a pained yelp and let go, and he took the chance to punch it right in its sensitive nose. It yelped again, scurrying away a few steps, and pawing gingerly around its face. He hastily made a snowball and pegged it right in the head. With one last yelp the wolf fled, likely to seek smaller and easier prey.
The beast swerved and circled back to face him. He lobbed another snowball, grunting in frustration as it dodged. He kept at it, ignoring the blood dripping down his arm and hand, speckling the snow with bright red.
After one snowball the white wolf vanished into smoke. Not a wolf but a monster?
Where there was one there were probably more. Wild supported his left arm with his right, trying not to leave a blood trail as he hurried away from the fight’s location as fast as he could. He kept his eyes sharp, and his ears pricked for more white beasties, his gaze constantly scanning across the snowy landscape.
There were a handful of trees off to one side. Some branches were bare, some had icicles hanging dangerously from them, while the rest showed off hardy green pine needles. Wild took the greenery as a favourable sign and smiled through the pain.
Step, crunch, step, crunch, step, cru–flail–nch. He took several panting breaths and continued on.
Despite his best efforts, there was a thin trail of red spots that stood out starkly against the pristine snow. He merely clenched his jaw and kept going. The building seemed closer for once and his spirits lifted slightly. His shivering was easing off too, although the snow kept getting harder and harder to walk through.
His injured arm no longer hurt, same with his feet, which buoyed his spirits further. With the building now staying in one place, his progress was pleasing. The afternoon crept on with no more surprises.
Walking was still getting harder even though he now felt almost pleasantly warm. His shins were just creating furrows in the snow as he lacked the energy to pick his feet up anymore. His boot hit something, and he fell forward.
The snow made a decent cushion and nothing new hurt. He yawned. He was nice and warm, and the snow was soft to lay upon. Surely, he could close his eyes and gain some strength for a bit? What a nice idea.
His eyelids slid closed, turning his view from white to black.
Everything flashed from hot to cold. There was never any in between, just one extreme to the other, and it was massively uncomfortable. He groaned, feeling unaccountably heavy, and tried to squirm only to find his limbs all but cocooned into place.
“Little one is awake, uh!”
“Wonder what was doing lying out in snow with no fur, uh.”
“Maybe lost?”
“Yeto wife so smart! Uh! So pretty!”
There was a coo, a rumble, and a smack of lips.
“Yeta sure little one is awake?”
“Saw it move, uh, but eyes not open.”
“Yeto will check, uh.”
Something prodded his stomach, the sensation muffled by whatever he was wrapped in. It prodded again and he squirmed, trying in vain to get away from the…whatever it was.
“Yeta right, it move! Wriggle like fish, uh.”
One of the voices was low and deep, a bass-like rumble, while the other was softer, higher, and more feminine. A wife and husband? Their Common Hylian was somewhat rough and stilted, though perfectly understandable. He wrenched his eyelids apart with some effort, as if they had been glued together, and stared up at a couple of strange creatures.
They were large and covered in whitish fur that was stained dark cream by the yellow-orange light of a fire in a lit fireplace a few feet away. Wild was wrapped tightly in blankets and lying on the floor of a rather grand, though bare, looking room.
“Wh-where…?” he croaked out. His voice was a scratchy mess, as if he’d swallowed half the gritty sand of the Gerudo desert.
The larger of the creatures, almost twice as big as the other one, picked up something and held it out to him. “Melted snow, uh. Nice and warm from fire. You drink!”
The thing, which turned out to be a bowl, was gently pressed up against his lips and tilted. He let the warm water enter his mouth and drank gratefully, the liquid leaving a warm track all the way down to his stomach. “Thank you,” he said once the bowl was empty.
“Little one welcome, uh!” the creature happily replied.
A tingling started in his hands and feet, quickly turning into pins and needles. Before long the pins and needles became uncomfortable, then evolved into something more painful, making him grit his teeth and squirm, trying to flex his hands and feet to alleviate the feeling. The pain persisted, a thousand tiny knives stabbing into his skin over and over. There was no escape from it, and a tiny whimper made it past his lips.
Three booming knocks echoed through the room.
The larger creature ambled away and Wild strained his ears to keep track of it. Heavy, somewhat shuffling footsteps moved away and stopped sooner than he expected. A door creaked open.
“Uh! Link!”
Wait, what?
“Hello Yeto. I don’t suppose you’ve seen a Hylian around here?” asked Twilight’s voice.
The champion could hardly believe it. Were the others here? Had they actually found him? Twilight seemed to know these creatures, and that was a good sign, right? The chances of the large furry creatures eating him had greatly diminished at least.
“Rancher!” he called out. Or tried to. His voice was still a mess despite the drink of water, and it came out at barely speaking volume. He tried to wriggle free to go to his companion, but it only served to make the pain flare with each movement.
He winced, hissed harshly through clenched teeth, and gave up, willing the waves of pain to ebb.
The smaller furry creature shuffled closer and made some soothing noises. Whatever it was, its face looked kind, almost motherly, and Wild couldn’t help but smile at it. It smiled back.
“Yes,” said Yeto. “Found in snow! Uh! Almost frozen like fish!”
The creatures… Yeto and his wife Yeta?
He’d seen weirder.
They were cute with each other. It was nice to see. Hear? Witness.
“This way!”
The heavy, shuffling steps of Yeto were joined by the patter of several lighter beings.
“Is this friend of Link?” asked Yeta.
“Wild!”
“Champion!”
“Cook!”
Various cries rang out and figures, more colourful than his current hosts, entered his field of vision. He grinned at them, his cheeks smarting and stiff.
“You look really snuggly,” said the sailor. He came bounding over, trying to subtly aim his hands at the fire behind his back.
“I feel,” he coughed, “like a caterpillar in a cocoon.”
Veteran smirked. “If we unwrap you, will you turn into a butterfly?”
Wild rolled his eyes and gave a rough chuckle. “Flutter, flutter,” he deadpanned.
“He’ll be so beautiful,” Hyrule whispered loudly, wiping away an imaginary tear.
Snickers and laughter filled the room and, for just a moment, the pain was pushed to the back of the champion’s mind. His muscles relaxed and he stopped fighting whatever he was wrapped in, his sense of security high enough to calm down now that his companions were here. His eyelids fluttered and he fought to keep them open.
Sky stepped forward and held out the Sheikah Slate and his bags. “We found these, so I hung on to them for you. I’ll hand them over when you’re back on your feet,” he said with a concerned smile.
“Thanks,” the champion mumbled sleepily. He was swiftly losing the fight against sleep, his eyelids feeling heavier and heavier.
A hand began to card through his hair. He had no idea who it belonged to, but the feeling was too nice for him to care for long. His eyes slid shut, his breathing becoming the nice, even rhythm of sleep.
Voices roused him from the depths of slumber. He didn’t want to leave the warm, comfortable darkness, but the voices persisted. His other senses awakened one by one. He was still wrapped up tightly, his limbs encased by warm material. He was thirsty. His mouth was dry and kind of fuzzy – not the most pleasant thing in the world but it could be worse. His nose, however, detected something absolutely delectable.
His nose convinced his eyes to open, and he blinked away the vestiges of sleep. He didn’t think he’d been moved at least, still being rugged up near the fire. It was starting to get a bit too warm if he was being honest. He tried to claw the cocoon down but failed, wriggling like a worm on a hook.
“He’s awake!” announced the smith.
“I knew the soup would work,” said Twilight. His tone was smug.
“I still bet it isn’t as good as my grandma’s soup,” said the sailor, off to one side.
Soup? Soup sounded amazing right now. His stomach gurgled plaintively.
Time walked over and began the arduous process of unwrapping Wild like a present. Layer after layer was peeled back like a banana and the champion wondered how many Yiga would love to be in his position right now.
No, no, don’t think of the Yiga. Think of soup. Mmmm…soup.
Wild wiggled his arms free, wincing at the knives that stabbed his limbs as he moved them. He flexed his red fingers gingerly, the knuckles turning white with the movements. Why were they red?
The older man helped him sit up, and Twilight gave him a wooden spoon and bowl of some sort of soup. He spooned some up and took a small sip. It was warm and hearty, pleasant and filling, and he quickly started in on the rest.
Time got some bandages and wrapped his bitten left arm while he was eating. There was some quiet conversation and the odd slurp here and there, overlaid with the gentle crackling of the flames. Despite the odd furry creatures, it was a very homey atmosphere and he relaxed, enjoying the camaraderie.
Soon enough the soup – he needed the recipe for it – was gone, and he licked his lips in appreciation. His arms and hands no longer hurt although they did tingle a bit still. He wiggled his toes. Ouch. They still hurt.
He set the bowl aside and moved the blankets off his legs as best he could. After a brief fight, he got his boots off, hissing at the flashes of pain that resulted. His feet were red, and his toes were a sort of purple shade.
Toes weren’t meant to be that colour, right?
He poked his right big toe, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth at the contact. His boots sloshed and he tipped them up, watching with wide eyes as some water poured out. He placed them off to one side near his discarded bowl and spoon.
“They didn’t even take off your boots?!” a voice furiously whispered near his ear.
He jumped, his hand hitting his foot, and he squeaked in pain, his head whipping around. Legend was kneeling next to him, his eyes narrowed at the sight of Wild’s feet.
“You’re lucky you haven’t lost your toes to frostbite!” the veteran whispered.
He shuffled down to Wild’s feet and gingerly laid a hand over the toes on his right foot. The champion almost bit his tongue trying to muffle the exclamation of pain. With a frown and a muttered apology, Legend sandwiched Wild’s foot between his hands and began to rub them, slowly at first, then fast enough to create some heat from the friction. Once his right foot was an achy, tingling mess, Legend gave his left foot the same treatment.
His toes looked more red than purple now. That was a good thing, right?
He groaned and bit his lip to keep in the other sounds of pain that bubbled up all the way from the tips of his toes.
“Better,” said the veteran, eyeing his work. He grabbed the partially discarded blankets, flipped them over, and wrapped the warm side back around Wild’s legs and feet.
“Thanks,” he said.
Legend merely nodded and sat down with crossed legs, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his steepled hands. He was a comforting presence and Wild couldn’t help but smile. They had their differences, sure, but they could always rely on each other.
The soup seemed to warm him from the inside out, going all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. He laughed as Wind and Twilight got into a brotherly scuffle, the rancher emerging as the victor.
After so long out in the cold, he knew he would be alright amongst all of this warmth.