galestrings

[galestrings]

The Architecture of Totori Village

It is apparent at a glance that the foundations of the Totori settlement were built with flight-capable persons in mind. The longest stretch of uninterrupted walkway runs from the first bridge into the village to the summit of the central rise; most businesses are located along this path in the interest of facilitating trade with non-Rito visitors.

Navigating any part of the village outside of this area requires gliding, at the very least, to traverse easily. Things like houses or storage buildings are often built out of reach of your average Non-Rito person(s): many rest high above or below the walkways, on the lengths of the many stone pillars extending up from the lake's surface, or even on the steep cliffsides toward the mainland. Connecting many of these properties are painted landings stretching outward, between which are naught but long, perilous drops into the lake below*.

A curious characteristic of Totori's structures is the conspicuous lack of walls; the majority of them are open on most or all sides, shielded only by thick lower railings and high, tapering rooftops supported by ironwood posts. Along the beams between each pair of posts, a bundle of reinforced hide can be seen; these hides, thick and sporting both hydrophobic and insulative properties, can be pulled down over the openings for protection from storms and sieges, or simply for privacy. Buildings are often painted with bold, brightly colored symbols and accentuated with woven fabrics.

The notable exceptions to this trend are supplies and weapons storage structures, which are always closed; these are smaller, less decorated, and placed out of reach of flightless beings in order to discourage thieves and raiders.

---

*Visitors staying within Totori Village on a long-term basis are advised to acquire gliders for day-to-day traversal.

[galestrings]

Are we all being so casually flippant, now? Revali scoffs harshly.

"I just told you how," he says brusquely. "You don't 'get' it for the same reason you can't do it. If you're not going to--"

No, you twit, of course he isn't; not the way his eyes fall away like that, or the troubled scrapings he's making in the snow. Revali is nigh certain, in fact, that there isn't a single dry or spiteful bone in this child's entire body.

He thinks of years long gone by -- of wringing his hands not far from this very spot, wondering what he's doing wrong. What's missing.

He remembers the frustration. He remembers the loathing.

Revali grinds his beak, straightening his back. He makes this cold, dismissive thought (pointless, pointless, this is pointless) fall away.

"Meditation." Quieter. Slower. Almost patiently. "Target practice. Night and day."

"Yet here sits a Master, comparing the two. Meditation and target practice," he says. "Absurd, isn't it?"

     Fifteen minutes for every word?! Tulin just spoke, like, ten! Maybe even more! Fifteen by maybe-even-more-than-ten...that's ages away, what?!

     A plant sapped of colour and wilting in real time: he slumps, rocking back in place, beak ajar and brows furrowed and jittery energy replaced with something horrified. Master Revali's not serious, is he? 'Cause, y'know, Tulin would ordinarily be over the moon and back at any chance to spend that much time with him, but if they're just gonna be doing something boring like meditating...

     ( He does not give Master Revali the full chickie eyes treatment when he looks at him, 'cause that's something he's too old for now — he's grown outta it, he swears — though it's a very near thing with how he hangs his head and sneaks a soulful peek up at him. )

     "'Course not," Tulin mumbles, unsure if this is something he can answer or if he'll be penalised for these words, too. Master Revali spoke first then, so it's okay, right? Right? Don't make him do this for even more periods of fifteen minutes, noooo... "But that's target practice. This is...sitting-and-thinking-too-hard practice."

     He rubs at the ground beneath them with a wingtip, gaze lowering. When he speaks next, his words are quieter and all squashed together, like he's sharing some sorta secret. "I don't really get how you do it." Or why Master Revali does it.

[galestrings]

"Well, obviously," Revali says. "But you've been to my village; I'm sure you've noticed that we've little interest in the protection of walls."

He draws a shape with his hands between them; not handspeech, but a simple, immaterial picture of an archway tapering as it rises.

"We are one with the Wind and Sky -- so, our homes are open to them," he explains, and the unbridled pride in his voice thickens the air. "We're a resilient people; only the worst of storms warrant closing them at all."

Another picture is drawn in contrast: a rigid box pierced by his finger.

"But Hylians -- you just cut holes in the sides. Such little holes; it's a wonder any of you can breathe at night."

Link tilts his head to the side, considering. Maybe he did once, and he certainly had a dream of being stationed in some remote outpost, defending the kingdom and doing little else, but that possibility was gone to him now.

Both hands rest palm up in front of him, first one lifting up and then the other. << Maybe. >> he agrees slowly as he considers. Fisted hand sweeps away from his chin, thumb sticking out slightly. Both hands then curl into fists, thumbs and pinky fingers both sticking out before he settles them down by his sides, forearms facing up. << Not right now though. >>

It is weird to be having a vaguely civil conversation with the Rito Champion, a fact that Link decides to note point out. Pointer and middle finger curl around each other before he pinches his nose in front of his face. Pinched fingers then moved along the side of his check before he bobs his fisted hand in a small nod. << The Rito have homes too, yes? >>

[galestrings]

#FLOCKREST. independent, selective, & heavily headcanon-based rito multimuse featuring tulin of the legend of zelda: breath of the wild & tears of the kingdom. established june 2023. doted on by ray!

[galestrings]

@flockrest:

     He's trying his best, he really is! Keeping any kinda quiet outside of training has never been something he's very good at though, and his mind's so loud in this shared silence that it makes sitting still very hard — Tulin can't help it when he opens his eyes, makes to say something before shutting his beak, and shuffles closer yet again with a rustle of feathers for the umpteenth time.      "Master Revali," he finally whispers ( 'whispers' ), 'cause if he doesn't get something out now then it's all gonna explode outta him like some blast of turbulence, he knows it. Belatedly, as the words leave him, he hopes he won't get shooed off for this, even if meditating maybe ( definitely ) just isn't for him. "Master Revali, how long do we gotta do this for?"

"Every word you speak," Revali says slowly, "is an extra fifteen minutes."

But he's only being facetious -- for the most part, anyhow. He ought to have dashed any hope of true meditation against the rocks surrounding them the moment Tulin had appeared in his midst with more pep in his step than the hares on the cusp of springtime. That would be regardless of these admittedly impressive stretches of silence (their best record being all of ten minutes) in the face of this zestful madness radiating from his every limb.

He may as well crack an eye, giving him an appraising look.

"Not to mention a breath wasted," he adds, tutting. "Meditation is a deliberate process, you know. Every bit as much as drawing a bowstring -- I trust you don't shuffle about so much during target practice."

[galestrings]

The children, twittery little things they are, normally do as they're told without too many questions asked. They're far too eager to please more than anything -- naturally, perhaps -- and that's about the beginning and end of it all.

Tulin is eager, there's no doubt about it. But the textbook undiscerning fawning comes across a bit oddly.

One might start to think that it isn't undiscerning at all.

But that's nonsense, of course. He's only a fledgling. Still, a curt "away with you, boy" feels mysteriously inappropriate.

"Yes. In a little while," he says. "Go on, now. I can hardly whittle my whole day away entertaining you."

"Think about what I said."

And for the first time in a good, long while -- without any good reason he could name -- he would, too.

     Whoa, neat! Stars in broad daylight, a yet unmapped constellation! At least, that's what Tulin feels like he's captured for a heartbeat, in that glimpse of maybe-something-like-warmth before Master Revali turns with a sweep of his feathers. It's another not-in-the-Songs thing, 'cept this one has his confidence and delight practically soaring — how many people ever get to see their Champion like this?!

     ( 'Sides, y'know, his friends...and flock. Okay, but they definitely don't know Master Revali's Songs like Tulin does, so they don't count! )

     Thoroughly heartened, he beams right back: with all the strength of sunrays in bare, balmy skies. Unseen, perhaps, but surely not unheard or unfelt when he affirms, cheeping with one last decisive nod, "Good, 'cause I would!"

     In the space between softening words, Tulin basks in the comfortable afterglow of a hope fulfilled. A world righted! Everything's totally fine again — then he's being dismissed, and that's taken much less gracefully 'cause what?! Booo! Master Revali, he wasn't done talking or hanging out with you yet!

     —Like he ever feels like he could be done talking or hanging out with Master Revali, but that's not the point! He doesn't wanna leave yet...and, like, it'd be pretty rude of him to just ditch Master Revali by himself when he said he'd miss him lots if he left him alone! Yeah, yeah, it'd be super rude of him!

     "'Kay, but you're gonna come with, right?" Tulin prods, ever one to read stuff like context and cues and the mood. "Right, Master Revali?"

[galestrings]

"Scared -- ?"

As if it wasn't offensive enough that he'd sauntered off the way he did in the middle of a conversation -- nay, a test of honor. But to return with an insult so artless? So insolent?

So vindicating?

Revali regarded Link's new weapon for a moment: he recognized it as Impa's, gently curved at the blade, as Sheikah swords often were. It was smaller than the Master Sword -- lighter, almost certainly. Interesting, he thought; he'd pegged Link as, size be damned, a bit more of a brute.

"Oh, if only," he said at last. "For your sake."

There was a rumbling through the distant skies then, and his eyes turned toward them: the clouds rolled, dark and thick, over their heads. The rain would be along any moment, he knew, as if the winds themselves were bound to his growing ardor. As the breeze wound around their heads, he followed it outward from the center of the circle, counting strides -- one, two, three, four, five -- and stopped at the very edge of the tiling.

Inhale. Exhale. The Gale swelled around his heart.

"You're done talking, then, I hope."

"Come. I'm not even touching my bow."

"I have just as much nerve as you do, I assure you," Link cut in, mimicking Revali's usual haughty tone. He even goes so far as to flip his hair in the same way Revali would flip his braids. "I told you, I earned my skills with the sword. They were not magically gifted to me through the Master Sword. Any other blade and I can still meet you head on."

He left the Master Sword where he'd slammed it into the stone and went to where the others were discussing plans without them. Borrowing Impa's kodachi took some convincing, but Link came back over to Revali with it in hand.

"You want to get this challenge started or are you scared, Revali?"

[galestrings]

That shadow of displeasure across his eyes grew; it had to be a blasted bird, of course. That the fact (and the subsequent warning) in this context made absolutely perfect sense regardless only made it rankle all the more.

There was a beat or two in which he only glared pointedly off into the dunes over her shoulder, as if a more stalwart point would come galloping out of them to relieve him if he willed it. When it didn't, of course, he could only tut, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet.

"We'll ride to the outskirts of the Bazaar," Revali said. "Then we stop, and I'm walking the rest of the way."

He could repress the urge to grasp his shoulder, at least, when he finally went to meet her; there would be no grouse-worthy performances today, feigned or otherwise, while he had his grit.

"I won't be seen getting ferried about like cargo. You can allow me that much dignity, at least."

She pinched her brow, eyes squeezed shut tight. She didn't personally care for sand seals, but their utility in the desert was not to be understated. Especially in times like this. She attempted one more tactic before her last resort, which would win neither of them a favor. She couldn't imagine that wrestling him to the ground, pinning his wings, and slinging him across her shoulders into town was not likely to make them any closer.

"When a Painted Grouse finds that a Cobra is making designs on her nest, she feigns a broken wing in a dance. Usually, she can lure the snake away, then fly off at the last moment before it can strike."

She made direct eye contact with him, quiet, burning disapproval in her gaze.

"Now, imagine what would happen if she weren't pretending. And then imagine, instead of a mildly hungry cobress, you were up against a molduga in the middle of breeding season."

[galestrings]

sleep meme

"I was meditating. Obviously." tagged by: @flockrest tagging: You there, with the skin! You are tagged. Meme away!

type of bed. There's a simple rope hammock tucked off to the side of his aerie. He prefers hammocks overall; he likes the feeling of "sleeping on air", so hay or mats are too constrictive!

number of blankets. Just the one: it's a faded quilt sewn with simple colors and a lot of evidence of home-repair on it. He sleeps on top of it more often than underneath it.

number of pillows. He's got a simple one packed with Rito feathers, but his hand or arm can do the job just as well, really!

type of clothing. If he actually takes the time to settle down, he'll lose the armor and leathers and undo his braids. Since he has a bad habit of failing to actually go to bed, though, he definitely ends up sleeping in his gear and day clothes a lot!

does it matter where they sleep? He pushes himself so hard and so often that he's acquired the ability to conk out just about any-damned-where: sitting up, draped over a workbench full of half-finished arrows, etc. Even so, he sleeps best in places where it's cool: he likes to keep some part of him exposed to the open air, even if it's just one hand, foot, tailfeather, etc.

what do they do if they cannot fall asleep? If sleep's not happening, then training definitely is! He'll dart off to some remote spot to practice: at best, he'll meditate, but at worst, he'll be going all-out until his body quits on him. Don't be alarmed if you find him slumped over himself, or up against one of the posts out on the Flight Range; it happens all the time!

frequent dreams, nightmares. Revali's dreams are usually very abstract and ethereal, if they're not (hilariously) self-aggrandizing. He's had nightmares, but they only become particularly frequent during or after the Calamity.

deep slumber or naps? Something in between! He doesn't take naps during the day, but when he does sleep, he has a tendency to drift in and out.

when do they sleep? While he tends to stay up late, he's diurnal in essence and usually sleeps at night -- assuming he's not pulling an all-nighter, of course!

what could wake them up? Revali is a pretty light sleeper: a flea sneezing could probably wake him (and he'd be quite cross with it after)!

[galestrings]

  "Hey, Master Revali, can you sing?" Tulin pretty much already knows the answer to this — it's duh, 'course he can, he's Master Revali — but great kids are polite and don't just assume things, and he knows how to be and do that!

"I don't."

That comes almost too quickly, particularly for one poised so carefully behind a freshly drawn bowstring. He lowers it with a tut -- more at himself, perhaps, than the boy. The boy who, for some unfathomable reason, asks every question except the ones any reasonable son of a warrior should ask.

Singing. They all sing just about everything important, everything they want you to remember, but why? As if anyone with a bow in hand worth their salt has the time for--

Where the snow falls up Where the snow --

For--

"I don't see the need, is all," he says cooly, rolling out his shoulders and re-nocking his arrow. "To spend my precious voice on all that . . . "

He swishes a hand -- as if he can mime the idea of song.

"La-di-da. Whatever you want to call it."

"Best leave what is the bard's to the bards."

[galestrings]

"I --"

He is, for a moment, at a loss -- which isn't a feeling he's altogether accustomed to, fond of, nor able to explain to himself. Even the sweetest of compliments are nothing new, after all: he draws them up like the sun on his back and carries on earning more day after day.

But he looks down into Tulin's kindly blue eyes as he bounces forward (up and down, up and down, this child never stops) and discovers to his chagrin that, with three little innocuous words -- I'd miss you, of all things, -- something has been slowly, quietly, almost timidly reaching across some vast distance for a good bit now: like a strand of the northern lights stretching across the skies. And like those lights, it comes from a dark place -- a place he'd felt, yes, but dared not look at too closely -- and only when his eyes are finally upon it does it suddenly shrink back from whence it came.

It'd better, he thinks -- although, he's not entirely sure why. It leaves something warm behind that's risen to his face as the smallest half-smile.

"I . . . know." Which is what he'll turn away with, folding his hands behind his back. "I know."

"Your father will be looking for you right about now, I think," he says quietly. "You'd best be off."

     It's sudden. Like a surprise attack from a surprise foe: the way Master Revali's sounds sharpen, the way his shadow looms and swallows where it had simply hung and covered, the way it all makes Tulin want to maybe — maybe — take a step back or two. He doesn't, 'course he doesn't, he's not scared of Master Revali, he's not. As it is, he just peers further up, wings tensing — then returning to his sides completely; eyes fixed — and refusing to be anything but.

     Just like in the Songs 'bout him, Master Revali makes for an awesome, imposing sight. But it's also not like those Songs at all, 'cause beyond the grandness and coolness and amazingness and all the other great -nesses that Master Revali's holding himself with, the figure he casts, torn away from the rest and perched so, so high—

     ( Tulin is reminded, briefly, of huge vane-wings and skies-shattering birdcries. Of another awe-striking figure sat above their home, above them, sorta a shield and sorta a sentry and totally unreachable all at once. )

     It’s…weirdly sad.

     An apology wobbles on the tip of his tongue. He hadn't meant to make Master Revali so— upset? Mad? Disappointed? "Boy," he's called, and doesn't that smart. He feels like he's being scolded, like he's done something wrong — and he must've, 'cause everything was fine just five seconds ago, before Tulin opened his beak.

     He doesn't know how or why whatever it is he's done or said would warrant this like-a-talking-to though, and Mum's always said that an apology you don't understand why you're giving is the worst kinda apology you can give.

     So the I'm sorry stays stuck behind his beak, even as the urge to make things better churns inside his chest. Without a way to do so with his own words, the urge latches onto those pointed ones instead: onto that wisdom that must be true 'cause it's from Master Revali, who's a Champion — who's so loved he wants to be lonely, and so special he doesn’t ever feel lonely.

     It's good to be alone. Better to be alone. Yeah!

     ...

     ...Nope, still makes Tulin feel bad ( or, well, worse ) just thinking 'bout it. For all that he tries, he can't fill up the aching emptiness that comes with the idea of having no one to fly back to; being flock-but-not-flock; looking behind you and seeing nothing but your own tailfeathers.

     "I dunno, Master Revali," he says. Slowly. Tentatively. He finally lets his gaze slide away, down to his twiddling wingtips. "That sounds so cool, but—"

     For all that he tries, in this, he doesn't think he can be like Master Revali.

     The shame crushes him for a moment. Makes him wilt and wish he could just sink into the floor like some puddle of snowy slush. What kinda warrior ( -to-be ) is he, if he can't be like Master Revali — confusing old person that he is! But then a happier thought hits him, a tiny realisation, and he's brightening like the sun peeking out from behind some clouds.

     "I mean, it's not every day, right?" Tulin looks up, leaning forwards with a spark of hope in his eyes. "We— you can't always be alone, right? 'Cause you got your friends who do your braids, and a whole flock that likes you loads! And— and now that I know you, you got me!"

     He hops closer, earnestly nodding, wings aflutter once more. "So, y'know, if you were somewhere else, alone all the time — I’d miss you lots!"

[galestrings]

"Tulin is a bothersome little thing. Songbirds twitter less.

Be that as it may -- I'll wager there have been few boys his age with such mettle since . . . well, me."

"It's . . . a start."

[galestrings]

He is, for a moment, disarmed; his eyes lose their razor's edge, flitting this way and that between Link's.

Nothing to find. As usual.

The arrow flips backward, clutched tightly now in his sizeable fist as he straightens his back, raising his chin under his narrowing eyes.

Surely not.

"You're joking." He must be. "I'm not amused. My challenge is quite serious, I assure you. If you don't have the nerve--"

Link didn't so much as blink when Revali brought the arrow so dangerously close to his eye - whether he was just that infuriated or if he truly had no fear of the archer, it was hard to tell from how little reaction the other drew from him. If it weren't for the point of his brow remaining from his previous outburst, Link's expression would be otherwise blank.

Just as it had been in the face of countless other challenges he'd accepted - some lost, many more won.

"I will step down as Champion."

[galestrings]

"Ha!"

Lonely -- ridiculous. He'd watched the gaggles of other fledglings telling each other jokes he couldn't hear, laughing until their sides burst, and felt nothing but disdain. And when their mothers and fathers came to fetch them, tenderly stroking the dust out of their feathers, that feeling grew. And it grew, and grew, and grew until it sent him ripping away, out toward the mountains, out to the very place that their children -- their children's children -- would learn to fight so many years later.

Lonely.

"You were here all night?" She'd asked him.

As if he needed any of them.

"Anyone else might," Revali replies. "And there's a reason for that."

Her stony eyes moved slowly along the wall of the chasm, pausing at each arrow plunged crookedly into its crust -- a mere five out of so many painstakingly fired and lost to the depths. He waited in silence for rebuke.

"Which will serve you, boy," he says importantly, drawing himself up, "as a bit of wisdom. A day will come when you must rely on yourself, and yourself alone. And if you seize that day -- "

Instead, she only grunted, turning swiftly on her heel. "Impressive." She took to the skies without another word. And Revali, alone again, felt his spirit climb joyfully after her.

"You will tap into a power beyond anything you could have possibly imagined."

     Of course, Master Revali replies, smoothing over his crest like there'd been any doubt to how well-loved it was and is — even as his voice does something funny. If Tulin didn't know any better, he might've thought it sounded like Dad's whenever he says something he doesn't really mean; like he's only saying it 'cause it's easier to say than anything else.

     But Tulin does know better, so the feeling takes off nearly as quick as it landed. His focus turns elsewhere: on the fact that he's completely right, and it has him giggling with a giddy hop in his steps as he loops back 'round — looking up to Master Revali in more ways than one.

     "You really think so?!" he chirps, puffing up at the mere suggestion of being the same as the greatest Rito warrior who ever lived in any regard at all — 'cept as Master Revali's words actually catch up to him, his fluttering wings, for a moment or three, falter.

     He tries to imagine it, then: Tulin, grown, as self-made as Master Revali. Tulin, so loved and admired that one of his favouritest parts of being a flockling becomes one of the worst. Tulin, with no one's wings and talons but his own — wanting no one's wings and talons but his own, not even Molli's or Uncle Harth's or Dad's or Mum's — caring for his feathers.

     His beak scrunches something awful.

     "Wouldn'tcha get lonely though?" He tilts his head, brows furrowed. I would, he doesn't say, but may as well have with how his wings wrap 'round himself. The more he thinks on it, the tighter his wings wind. In an attempt to make sense of the idea, he ventures: maybe there's some sorta good in being lonely?

     ...What would ever be good 'bout being lonely?

     Maybe Tulin really is just too young to get it...yeah, that must be it! Old people can be so confusing sometimes — seems like even Master Revali can't defy this one way of the world.

[galestrings]

The Music of The Rito

Alongside flight, Rito culture is saturated with music; it permeates through many facets of their lives, including entertainment, education, and even military strategy.

Characteristics

Aside from singing, the musical compositions of the Rito people are often filled with the sounds of wind and string instruments. While these instruments come in a variety of shapes, sizes, and sounds -- some of which only Rito can use properly -- harps are especially sought-after due to their association with popular myths and legends*.

Daily Life

The quiet of the mornings in Rito Village is usually broken by the sharp whistling of weary Rito watchmen leaving their posts when the sun rises, and they return to them at the sound of the first sleepy notes from their replacements when it sets. Wooden wind chimes dressing various shops and houses collide melodiously with one another in the breeze, and children are often heard learning their numbers, letters, and traditions in tunes passed down by their mentors and families.

Furthermore, song and dance are well-respected art forms among the Rito, and musically talented members of society are usually highly praised and appreciated.

History & Fiction

Much of Rito fiction and history is kept and shared in song. While not all Rito bards are historians, the vast majority of Rito historians are bards: they are often very well-read, memorizing and interpreting the works of other musicians as well as primary historical accounts in order to better weave them into their art. Many bards' interest in history compels them to travel, exploring distant lands and interacting with various other peoples and cultures from all over the known world.

Military

In times of secrecy and strife, Rito warriors and scouts utilize music to pass confidential messages to one another in the field. These messages take the form of short tunes, and the melody, key, and tempo of each is vitally important to their meaning. This musical cipher is so precise that a failure to replicate or hear them nigh-perfectly will distort the meaning entirely; while this risks miscommunication, it also makes distorting or intercepting Rito intelligence more difficult for opposing forces.

---

*Chief among these legends is the Song of Medli, which tells the story of a young Rito woman who soothed the wrath of a mighty spirit, Valoo, with her music.

[galestrings]

@flockrest:

     "Uh-huh," Tulin says, with the air of a kid who was totally listening, honest — he's just got something waaay more interesting he'd like to talk about. Never one to politely change subjects, but wanting to try 'cause it's Master Revali, he settles for rounding off whatever Master Revali was saying ( that he was totally listening to, honest! ) with a truth readily believed and gladly given: "That's so cool, you're the best!"      Then he gets right into it, too eager to allow even a moment's pause.      "But hey, y'know, Master Revali," he flits 'round their Champion's side, wings lifted to motion at the things he hasn't been able to stop thinking 'bout since he, well, started, "you got a lotta braids! Are they all yours-yours, or are they from someone else?" Ooh, several someones, even; a warrior like Master Revali must be very important to loads'a people — loved enough to be preened by loads'a people!

"I beg your -- ?"

His choicest word cut short in its prime down the middle, and it finally occurs to Revali that this boy, fickle sprite that he is, was most certainly not listening at all. It's that look children have when things start falling out of the sides of their heads mid-lesson: twitchy, fit to burst. The most attentive non-listeners you could ever ask for: Revali had never been good with them.

But that's his answer, isn't it? It comes to him as the stories slip away and the memories replace them at Tulin's probing: he was never good with them, even as a boy himself. He would look down from the Summit and see them all flitting around each other like lovebirds, tying their budding crests into crude knots with clumsy hands.

Stupid, he'd thought. How stupid.

When the stars came out and every one of them slept, Revali would creep down to the landings, collect whatever they'd left behind, and do up his own. Only his own, and certainly alone. And alone is how he would do it every single time since.

Perhaps they all thought someone must be doing it. How lucky that person must be,' they'll be thinking, 'to touch a single feather upon his perfect head!' The mystery, the jealousy, the great divide--

That shuts his mind's eye quickly -- before something lands in it. They should think so. Oh, they'd better.

"Well, of course," Revali says, and although the hand he's running regally over his crown is right on time, his voice rings oddly. Mechanically. "It's embarrassing, really: this tie and those beads and the ribbons--"

"I'd much rather do them myself at this point. When you've grown up a bit, you'll feel the same, I'm sure."

[galestrings]

It's quite difficult to both pointedly ignore and scrutinize the thoughts of a man who uses his hands to speak. Perhaps he ought to have paid better attention to the Elder of Tongues; he was dull old wart, yes, but no foreigner could make a fool of him with his ears wide open, figuratively or otherwise.

Same, is it? No: you, me. You and me -- me, too, he's saying. Revali raises his eyebrows.

"But Hylians love their little boxes," he says. "Clay cottages and shops and whatnot."

"Even you must want one, surely. You all build them just about everywhere."

Link gives the other a long look, wondering if it's worth commenting out of concern of what reply he might get back in turn. Tapping at his chest, his left hand rolls into a fist, pinky and thumb sticking out as he rocks his hand back and forth. << Me too. >> he admits.