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skyward-floored · 1 year

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Whumptober Day 2: Thermometer, Delirium (“I’ll call out your name but you won’t call back”)

This one has similar vibes to day 1, but it was originally for a different later-on day so that’s why (if you know the prompts, you can probably guess which!). Also there’s no actual thermometers here, but I definitely used the prompt as inspiration lol. Sorry Sky.

Warnings for: being out in the heat too long, an implied head injury, and a character thinks briefly about how it wouldn’t be so bad to die.

Read it on ao3

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Sky couldn’t remember why he was here.

Blinding sun shone in his eyes, even when he shaded his face with his hands, that made the pounding in his skull twice as worse. The glare made it impossible to see across the desert he was walking through, and his eyes hurt from squinting. Sand blew past his face, tripped his steps, and the heat rose off of it in waves, making it hard to focus on why...

...why what, exactly?

Sky shook his head, unable to remember, and kept walking. There wasn’t anything else to do, after all.

He’d been walking for ages, and the temperature had risen sharply as he’d gone, making sweat pour down his face and drip down his back. His sailcloth had long been put away in his pouch, and as tempted as he was to remove more layers, he didn’t want to be vulnerable to attack, or exposed to the blinding sun any more than necessary.

Not that it mattered much. There was no shelter anywhere.

Only sand. Endless sand.

Sky squeezed his eyes shut a moment, the uncomfortable sting from their dryness worth the temporary respite from the sun. He only had a few sips of water left, and as much as he wanted to gulp them down, he needed to conserve them so he could make it back to... to somewhere.

...to someone?

Sky swallowed, the motion barely relieving the dryness of his throat.

He was alone, but it hadn’t always been like that, had it? He did faintly recall being in a desert like this before, but... but maybe he’d always been wandering out here by himself.

Alone in the desert, with no water and a headache that only got worse.

He kept walking.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky above him, no respite from the sun that beat down on his head. A scorching wind sometimes brushed past his bangs, kicking up the sand, but bringing no relief whatsoever.

Sky’s legs dragged more and more the longer he walked, his clothes soaked in sweat. He gulped down the last few drops of water he had, but it didn’t do a thing to quench his thirst. His head pounded, his headache worsened from the bright sun and pulsing behind his eyes, but Sky couldn’t even close them. Whenever he did, he always tripped soon after, and pulling himself back up got harder each time it happened.

A sound suddenly caught his attention, one that wasn’t just harsh wind or shifting sands. Sky dazedly looked up (when had he lowered his head?), and his eyes widened at the sight.

There were trees a short distance away, trees and tents set up around a large rock that reached up towards the sky. They all provided a glorious amount of shade from the sun, and in the middle of it all was a large pool of water.

Sky stared, then felt his aching face stretch in a smile.

Shelter. Shade.

Water.

He let out a raspy laugh, and began to run towards it, stumbling in the sand as he went. Finally, civilization, and a respite from the awful heat. Somewhere to rest, to figure out why he was wandering through the desert, why he felt like he shouldn’t be alone.

Sky was so fueled by the sight of something other then sand that in his excitement, he suddenly tripped on the large dune he’d been running down. His legs were too exhausted to recover, and he fell forward, arms pinwheeling.

Sky’s yelp was quickly cut off as his face hit the sand, and he tumbled down the rest of the way, limbs flying and sand getting on every bit of him that didn’t already have it.

He finally rolled to a stop with a groan, his exhausted body even more tired from the fall. He felt bruised and dizzy, and the same spot in the back of his head that kept pounding was blazing with pain now, but the reminder of water got him to fight through it, and Sky took in a steadying breath. Once his head finally stopped spinning, he carefully raised it, trying to focus on the oasis again and reorient himself.

Nothing but empty sand met him.

Sky stared, eyes widening as he lurched to his feet and looked around with increasing desperation. He could no longer hear the splashing of the water, see the leaves of tall palms rustling with a cooling breeze, just... sand.

Nothing but sand.

There had never been any oasis. It was just his mind, desperate for something to cool itself off with, tricking him.

Sky closed his eyes, a wave of despair crashing over him. It was so intense he nearly fell over, and he felt a frustrated cry build in his throat. He’d been so close, to shelter, to water, to people... but no, there’d been nothing to be close to at all. Just his dehydrated mind playing tricks.

He shook his head, and swallowed back the sting in his eyes as he reopened them. A dull feeling settled over him as he stared at the empty sands, and he sighed, the sound raspy and weak.

Nothing to do but keep going.

He began to walk again, and he couldn’t bring himself to scan the horizon for help any more. Maybe there just wasn’t any shelter anywhere.

Maybe the desert had no end.

Waves of heat rose off the sand, making the horizon impossible to make out no matter how much Sky squinted at it. The sun was right around its peak, scorching its rays onto his head, and Sky took his sailcloth back out with shaking hands and rested it over his head to protect his face. It barely helped, and he knew his skin was already peeling from burns, but he kept it there anyway. The faint sweet smell coming off of it was comforting at least.

He wondered why it smelled so nice. He couldn’t remember.

The sun seemed to stall above his head, getting no lower. Sky’s stomach began to roll unpleasantly, his dry throat crying out for water. He wasn’t sure why he kept walking honestly, when it would have been so much easier to just stop, but something kept his feet moving, even despite the pounding in his head.

A laugh floated by on the wind, and Sky blinked, a flash of pale hair in the corner of his eyes. He thought he saw a man approach him, covered in armor, but when he looked again he was gone.

The light grew more orange, his shadow squirming like snakes over the dunes. Harsh wind stung at his face like bitter words, and a wolf laughed at him when he stumbled, barks ringing in his ears. Something with fiery hair challenged him to a fight, but when Sky drew his sword to face it, there was nothing but a distant laugh in his ears.

He kept his sword out after that, using it as more of a walking stick than anything. Apologies spilled from his lips, for scuffing her steel and getting sand stuck in her hilt, but he didn’t know why. She was just a sword, wasn’t it?

Something circled lazily above his head, and Sky squinted at it, pausing as he tried to figure out why the shape seemed so familiar. Something outstretched to either side, a tail in the back...

Red flashed in his vision, and an intense hope caught in his chest as a memory surfaced.

“Crimson?” Sky breathed, watching the bird swoop around, wings stretched towards him as if it was coming in for an embrace.

Then it abruptly changed course and began to fly away.

“No— nnno no Crimson no, come back—!”

Sky bolted after his loftwing, but barely took a step before tripping in the sand, sending him sprawling. He desperately looked up, but his bird was long gone, lost in the blue sky.

It had left him. Everyone had left him. The scarf, the leaves, the golden hair, even his sword— Sky sobbed and tried to get up, but he’d finally reached his limit, the loss of his bird one loss too many.

He collapsed, muscles worn, heart aching, and his vision went dark.

(...)

A faint whisper tickled his ears.

Sky breathed out a soft moan, too hazy to try and listen. It was a gentle voice, one that made his chest hurt for some reason, but everything was disjointed, dark color smearing around the inside of his eyelids.

The voice repeated itself, but he couldn’t focus through the darkened void, too weak, too faint. But the voice continued, kept trying, and eventually Sky could hear it enough to just barely make out what it was saying.

“...Link...”

It was if his name was spoken through a heavy fog.

Sky still didn’t move, feeling utterly drained. It was like a weight had been dropped on top of him. Even when he thought he heard something move nearby, he remained still, listening silently as it approached. The sounds were strangely distant, but he listened to them anyway, unable to do much else.

The footsteps stopped, and Sky could feel that he wasn’t alone.

Maybe it’s a monster finally come to finish me off, he thought distantly. The idea was almost a welcome one, and he exhaled, sure that he’d feel a blade cutting into his heart any moment now. Then maybe he could truly rest, and join everyone who had left him.

“Sleepyhead, it’s time to get up.”

The familiar nickname abruptly cleared some of the fog that had descended in Sky’s head, and he forced his eyes open through the grit encrusting them.

Warm yellow met him, not like the painful glare of the desert sun, but a kinder, cheerful shade. Like gentle spring sunshine, with a silver glint from the moonlight. Sky blinked, and felt a huge surge of emotion as he looked up into crystal-clear eyes, their middle a blue even brighter than the sky.

“...Zelda?” he croaked, and she nodded from where she stood next to him.

“Sleepyhead, you need to get up,” she said in a teasing voice, and Link closed his eyes again, already exhausted from opening them the first time.

“...I can’t... Zelda, I...” he whispered, and he felt a light touch on his cheek, fingers gently caressing him.

“Open your eyes, Link.”

He obeyed, and Zelda smiled at him again, her form strangely hazy in his vision.

“You’re close to help, Link. It’s not much further, you can make it. I know you can.”

“I can’t,” he repeated in a whisper, wishing he could do as she said, but unable to gather the strength.

The sun had wrung out any energy he had, sapped by sweat and heat and the endless pound in his head. Sky belatedly realized it was much colder now, but the temperature switch was of no relief to his worn and wearied body. The air was now freezing instead of burning, and he barely had the energy to shiver, the cold leeching any remaining strength he had.

He was deathly thirsty, his stomach still hurt, and he still couldn’t remember why he was in the desert in the first place, or what he’d been doing beforehand.

Link closed his eyes again, a sudden wave of despair crashing over him through the confusion and haze.

“I can’t,” Link trembled out again, and tears would have sprung to his eyes if he’d had any water left in his body. “Z-Zel, I can’t.”

“You can,” Zelda replied in a voice equally firm and soft. Link couldn’t stand to look at her.

He kept his eyes closed, and then something moved at his side where his pouch was. He stayed still as it moved, then felt something soft fall over his shoulders, a familiar perfume drifting into his nose.

“You can, Link,” Zelda repeated, her voice encouraging. “I’ll be with you for every step. Don’t fall here. It’s time to get up.”

Link exhaled, and looked into Zelda’s eyes, watching the way the moonlight made them shine.

“Is that a command from my goddess?” he whispered in a barely-there voice.

“No. It’s a request from your friend,” Zelda said as she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his hair. “Now come on, Link. It’s time to keep going.”

Something alit inside Link’s chest at her words, something weak, and faint. But it was warm, and Link clung to it like a drowning man, curling around and snatching at it, and suddenly felt as if he had some of his strength back. Not a lot, barely any, and he doubted he could even raise his sword... but he could move.

He wasn’t going to die alone in the desert. He wouldn’t fall here.

He would keep going.

Link clutched at his sailcloth with trembling fingers, and turned himself off his side and onto his hands. Then he moved to his knees, and ever so slowly, body shaking with the effort, got to his feet.

He stood for a moment, trembling in the moonlight, afraid to move for fear that he’d fall over. But Zelda’s words rang in his head, and he breathed in, tightening his grip on the sailcloth. Then he took a single swaying step, and then another, and another, legs trembling like those of a newborn loftwing. Walking through the sand seemed more impossible than earlier, and once he began shivering, it was even worse.

But every time he faltered, every time he nearly collapsed, wanted desperately to stop and just rest... he saw a shine of yellow hair ahead of him, a glint of blue eyes... and he kept going.

All through the night he plodded along, boots slipping in the sand, clutching Zelda’s words to him as tightly as he clutched the sailcloth.

Something at his back gave out an occasional weak pulse, and Link matched his steps to the faint rhythm. The horizon began to lighten, orange streaks shooting through the sky, and somewhere in that time, Link stopped shivering, the temperature rising again as he trekked endlessly across the sands.

Step, after step, after step.

He kept walking.

The sun broke over the horizon, making his eyes sting from its brightness. His footsteps weaved uncertainly as it cast orangey rays across the sands, voices warbling to him on the wind, cheering him, jeering at him, words both indecipherable and clear as ice.

A red haired man yelled at him after spending all day with Zelda, and a tall woman fiercely berated him, making his ears sting. The armor looked at his sword with dislike and anger while a bunny twitched his whiskers, the very grass and trees laughed, dusk fell and cried out as he struggled against the darkness, his parents looked at him with pride and grief and Mia wove around his legs as she begged to be picked up—

Link belatedly realized he’d fallen to the ground, still-cool sand pressing against his cheek.

Zelda’s voice had gone quiet, no more yellow hair to follow, no voice urging him up. Link breathed out, his strength gone. The faint flicker he’d regained was utterly spent. His body had been pushed to its limit, and he’d gone as far as he could. He’d given it his all.

He couldn’t keep going.

The darkness started to creep up on him again, but it felt colder this time, deep, reaching out to drag him down with its claws. Link shivered and wanted to brush it off, but he couldn’t even raise his arm.

I’m sorry Zel.

The claws hooked into him, began to cover his vision, sending darkness over his sight, but as they did, Link thought he saw a flicker of color out in the sand.

A yell rang faintly in his ears as he closed his eyes, footsteps pounding the sand. More yells joined the first as Link relaxed, and the sand brushed his other cheek, though it felt remarkably smooth and gentle as darkness swept over him like a wave.

For some reason, he felt perfectly safe.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu Sky #zelink #lu Sun #...or is it?#whumptober 2023 #day 2 #thermometer #delirium #I’ll call out your name but you won’t call back #writing from the floor #these first few ended up so longgggg #but I guess that’s what happens when I actually have time to plan #don’t worry after the first week they’ll be pretty disastrous XD

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whumpetywhump · 11 months

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Whumptober Day 25 - "They're Not Breathing"

Bulgasal: Immortal Souls - Ep. 6

First Responders - Ep. 7

Kokdu: Season Of Deity - Ep. 6

Oh No! Here Comes Trouble - Ep. 12

Til The End Of The Moon - Ep. 9

#whumptober 2023 #no.25 #they're not breathing #bulgasal immortal souls #first responders #kokdu season of deity #oh no here comes trouble #til the end of the moon #whump #kwhump #cwhump #asian whump #gifs

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skyloftian-nutcase · 11 months

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From the Shadows (pre-LU whump)

@nancyheart11

Summary: Twilight encounters a black blooded beast for the first time. It doesn't go well.

(AO3 link)

It was a bitterly cold evening. The coming of winter brought winds from the northwest, and though it probably wasn't excessively frigid, Rusl was still accustomed to the warm summer. The home carried a damp chill, and the blacksmith found himself huddling by the fire after a hard day's work. Hana sat on his lap, babbling happily while playing with her toys, while Colin helped his mother cook dinner. The dull light that could pierce through the clouds was steadily fading as the hidden sun slowly set beneath the horizon.

Rusl hummed absentmindedly, though he couldn't quite maintain a tune, but his daughter didn't seem to mind. His mind drifted passively from thought to thought, settling on wondering what Uli might be whipping up in the kitchen, when there was some sort of ruckus outside. Cuccoos were squawking, a horse was whinnying very loudly - what was going on?

Rising, Rusl told Hana to go to her mother just as he and Colin headed for the door together. The cold slammed their faces as Colin got there first, and Rusl felt his blood freeze with it.

Epona was running amok in the village, panicked. She was fully saddled and bridled as if Link had been out riding, but now there was no Link to be found while his steed was in a frenzy.

Ilia, who had also come out due to the commotion, rushed to the horse first. Many of the villagers peered out through cracked doors, anxious and curious. Colin got to Epona next while Rusl looked around for any sign of his ward.

"Sshh, it's okay," Ilia hushed gently, petting Epona's head while she stomped in place nervously.

"Where's Link?" Colin asked worriedly.

"I... I don't know," Ilia answered. "I didn't even know he'd left the village."

Rusl eyed the steed sharply, looking for clues while worry curled in his gut and clenched at his heart. It wasn't a promising sign for Link's horse to be in such a state. The animal was unharmed, but he saw traces of clues: a small branch caught in the saddle, a half open satchel of supplies partially used.

Link had been exploring, or fighting, and something had gone wrong.

The resistance member reentered the house, brushing by a worried Uli and grabbing his sword and shield. He layered up clothes and some armor while Uli approached him.

"Rusl?" she didn't have to ask what was wrong. Her tone and eyes asked everything she needed to.

"I don't know what happened," Rusl answered. "But something's wrong with Link. I'm going to find him."

Uli swallowed, hands wringing anxiously as she looked back outside. "Please, be careful."

Rusl paused, watching his wife a moment. She never argued his choices to leave for missions or operations, but he knew how much it weighed on her. She wanted to make sure Link was well too, but he could sense her fear at the sudden shift in mood, at the hasty decision to drop everything and enter an unknown peril. He cupped her cheek, guiding her eyes to his. "I will be. I promise."

Uli smiled a little, leaning into his touch, before stepping away so he could finish. Rusl headed outside to see Colin armed with a sword and a cloak.

"Colin," he started, but his son cut him off.

"I've been training," Colin immediately argued. "I'm coming too."

Rusl bit back a sigh. His boy had always been eager to help ever since the Twilight incident, and adolescence had only added defiance to eagerness, making it all the harder to keep him safe. There was little time to argue, and... the boy wasn't wrong. His sword skills were quite good.

It didn't make his father feel much better about the situation. He already had one son in danger. He wasn't keen on putting another one in the same circumstances.

"Colin--"

"Every minute we spend arguing, Link could be dying!" Colin interrupted.

The teenager wasn't wrong, but Rusl still felt uneasy. "Fine. But you ride Epona, and the second I tell you to get out, you listen. Understood?"

Colin swallowed, paused, and then nodded. Rusl felt a little at ease with that - his boy was honest, and thankfully had inherited a bit more of his mother's reason than his father's stubbornness. Although he had certainly done some foolish, harebrained things, he would listen to his father.

Rusl grabbed his own horse and the pair headed towards Faron Woods with well wishes at their backs from the villagers. He reached out, letting his hand rest gently on Epona's head. "You'll have to guide us, girl."

Colin pat Epona's neck, urging her forward. At first the steed was obedient, but the farther into the woods they went, the more nervous and hesitant she became. That meant whatever had caused the initial scare had to be close. Despite already being on alert, he tensed even more, eyes searching for clues.

He didn't have to search for long. The earth was scarred, claw marks and chunks of dirt thrown like lacerations in the skin of the land itself. The birds were silent. Epona nickered, taking a step back. The oncoming darkness of night gave the trees sinister silhouettes. Rusl and Colin's warm breaths hovered in the chilly air, the only apparent sign of life around them.

"I've never seen the forest so still," Colin commented quietly, a slight tremor to his tone. He reached hesitantly for his sword.

Rusl's own mount began to grow nervous, ears peeling back, hooves playing uneasily with the earth. The air felt distinctly colder. The swordsman drew his blade, and his son followed suit.

"Let's keep moving," he said, guiding his steed forward with a tap of his heels.

Eventually it grew so dark that Rusl was squinting to see anything, and he brought out his lantern. It seemed to be of little help, creating ominous shadows that seemed to creep ever closer as they moved. Epona nickered again, and then she picked up her pace. Rusl followed closely, eyes alert for danger. His eyes picked up on silky strands that glowed in the lantern light, and his insides started to crawl.

Colin gasped ahead of him. "Link!"

Rusl's gaze snapped straight ahead, his horse breaking into a canter to get to the front, and then he leapt off as he took in the sight before him.

Link was on the his back, splayed out across smooth stone, pale and shivering, blood staining his green tunic as his hand clutched his upper abdomen. His eyes were half open, already noticing Rusl and Colin's approach.

"Pa," he whispered as Rusl fell to his knees beside him.

"What happened?" Rusl asked, looking the young man over. The worst of it from what he could tell was a bad gash on the boy's head and whatever wound he was trying to hold pressure against on his abdomen. Rusl quickly pulled out a bandage from the first aid bag he'd grabbed and gently tried to guide Link's hand from the injury.

"They're... strong..." his boy tried to explain, coughing. "P-Pa..."

Rusl hushed him gently, hand wrapping around Link's wrist. "It's going to be okay, Link, but you have to let me see the wound."

"I'm... glad you're... I didn't..."

Rusl grew more worried as Link didn't seem to listen. He again tried to move the young man's hand, watching blood stream from beneath.

"Pa...?" Colin called hesitantly, and Rusl looked up, gasping and nearly falling backwards.

Eight eyes watched him, beady and black as coal, two incisors chattering excitedly beneath them. Rusl immediately grabbed his sword and shield in time to block a quick strike from the large skulltula. The force of the attack sent him on his backside, and Colin leapt forward, jabbing at the beast with his blade. The giant monster hissed, taking a few steps back before pressing the attack again. Colin yelped, dodging a blow, and Rusl quickly leapt to his feet to stab and cut one of its legs. He saw that one had already been chopped off entirely, and he recognized multiple sword slashes in the beast's body. How was this thing still standing?!

"Colin, protect Link!" Rusl advised, trying to press the offense and push the beast farther away from his boys. Colin grabbed his lantern and set it beside Link, lighting the area better so Rusl could see his opponent.

Link watched the fight with exhausted worry, eyebrows pinched but too weak to do anything. He turned his attention towards Colin as his little brother stood over him defensively. "Colin."

The blonde teenager jumped, startled, and looked down at Link. "It's okay, Link! Pa and I will sort this out."

"It's too... strong," Link advised, shaking his head slowly. "E-Epona..."

"Link, it's going to be okay!" Colin insisted, gripping his sword more tightly.

Rusl emphasized the point when he managed to land a stab right at the joint where one of the beast's legs met its thorax. That should cripple it nicely. The skulltula hissed and screamed, the leg in question giving out, before another swept across the ground, slamming Rusl in the ribs and sending him flying.

Colin called out, rising and ready to run to his father, and Rusl waved him off, blinking stars out of his vision. Link's hand finally left his wound to wrap around Colin's ankle, catching the boy off guard.

"Epona..." he tried again. "Bag... potion... Pa can't... fight it alone..."

Colin looked frantically between his brother and father. Rusl was still down, trying to catch his breath as the skulltula advanced quickly. Making a decision, the teenager rushed back to Epona while yelling to get his father's attention and warn him.

Rusl felt his head spinning, but he could hear the hasty footsteps of the beast, and he readied his shield in time to avoid getting bitten by its massive fangs. The onslaught was constant now, though, one bite after another, legs moving to position him more easily for the kill. He rolled away, grimacing through the damage to his ribs, but he eventually hit a tree and had nowhere else to go without getting up.

Gritting his teeth, Rusl let out a yell of defiance and pain as he rose, only to get smacked down again by one of the beast's uninjured legs. His world was beginning to spin, and he'd ventured too far from the lantern light to see properly anymore. His veins filled with ice as his mind registered this was getting out of control. He rose again, shaky, and jabbed blindly with his sword to create some distance. The skulltula retreated a hair as intended, and he could barely make out its silhouette in the darkness.

A snarl filled the air, something dark and fast rushed into view, slamming the skulltula to the ground. It crumpled with a shriek, legs sprawled and flailing. Light illuminated the area as Colin ran into the clearing, lantern in one hand, sword in the other. He stabbed at the beast's thorax once, twice, thrice, and it still wailed and wiggled, trying to right itself and continue the fight.

The dark, snarling thing that slammed into the beast stumbled into view, and Rusl could make out claws and paws and matted fur before the light around it was snuffed into nothingness. The light reformed with a hiss, and Link was crouching in their midst, trembling and bloodied but up and moving.

"Give me the lantern," Link hissed, grabbing it and smashing it over the beast, flames licking at the monster as it screamed. Link brought his blade down and cut the creature's thorax clean into sections, and the skulltula finally grew silent and still.

Everyone blew out a collective sigh of relief.

Colin broke the silence first, running to his father. "Pa, are you okay?"

Rusl watched Link turn to look at him, his own face cast in shadow, exhausted and filthy and wounded. The Ordonian took a shuddering breath, feeling his own chest scream in protest, and his world finally stopped spinning. He placed a shaky hand on Colin's shoulder, looking hisboy over and seeing that he was unscathed.

"I'm okay," he finally said. He would be better if he could get his racing heart under control. He'd never had such trouble fighting a single beast. He... was about to die if Link hadn't stepped in. His mind was caught in a spiral between concern for his boys and fear at his own mortality having been thrust in his face so unexpectedly. He'd faced death a fair amount, but not when the stakes were so high, not when his sons were right there.

Spirits above. They could have all died just now.

One of them was still hurt. He needed to help Link.

Rusl got to his feet, his body trembling, and he squeezed Colin's shoulder reassuringly. The flames on the skulltula were feasting happily, but they would soon extinguish so long as the Ordonians moved the dead leaves away from the corpse.

"We should go," Link advised quietly. "I'll guide the way. My wolf eyes can see in the dark."

Rusl stumbled somewhat unsteadily towards the young man, not acknowledging his words for a second. Both his hands went to Link's face, holding him steady with his gaze as he looked him over. How the young hero was suddenly standing when he'd been barely able to slew words together before was disconcerting and confusing. He was still wounded, wasn't he? The blood indicated as such.

"I had a potion, Pa," Link explained, putting an equally unsteady hand on the man's chest. Rusl saw the hand was stained, but the blood... why was it black?

He had far more questions than answers, but Link was right. They needed to go. They couldn't handle another fight like that. Rusl felt his heart skip a beat at the thought that something so dangerous had been anywhere near Ordon Village.

Link stepped away before Rusl had a chance to speak, crouching to the ground as shadows encased him. A wolf exited the darkness, shaking himself off a little with a small whine. Link couldn't hide his emotions or his wounds as well in this form, and it was clear he was in pain.

Reality snapped into place around Rusl, and he quickly kicked the leaves away from the skulltula's body, advising Colin to do the same. The last thing they needed was to burn down the forest. Link dug little trenches around the massive body. After a few minutes of work, the three were satisfied enough to leave the body burning, fire lazily crawling across and consuming as it went.

Epona nickered and ran forward to greet them when they made their way back to the original clearing. Rusl saw his horse waiting anxiously in the background. Epona and Link touched noses briefly, the wolf's tail wagging slowly.

"She got us," Colin explained. "She ran back to the village."

Link let out a small noise, licking tentatively at Epona's muzzle, and the horse nuzzled the wolf's face briefly.

"We need to go," Rusl finally said, mounting his own horse with a grunt of pain. He wanted nothing more than to let Link ride with him, but the boy wasn't wrong in that they needed a guide out. It was now night, and the crescent moon did little to guide their way, particularly with the cloud coverage. Colin got on Epona's saddle, and Link slowly began to limp through the forest.

As they moved, it gave Rusl more time to think and worry. How much blood had Link lost before he'd had a potion? Where had this beast come from, and how was it so powerful? Skulltulas were unpleasant, but they'd never been more than a nuisance unless in groups. Perhaps there had been more? Rusl hadn't seen any others, alive or dead.

Dead. Dead. He could have died, and worst of all, it would have left his boys at that beast's mercy. Rusl took a steadying breath, wincing again at his ribs.

He was getting too old for this. Facing his mortality hadn't been this terrifying since the first time it had happened. Then again, it didn't happen all that often. The last time he'd felt such fear clutch at his throat was when the Twilight invasion had started. He'd been nearly beaten senseless, and though he had been afraid for his own life, he had been far more terrified for his children.

But his children hadn't been present for that fight. Here they would have died if he'd failed, and he'd nearly failed.

He needed to contact the others about this. He'd never encountered such a beast, and he couldn't fight another alone. Link hadn't been able to fight it alone!

The sound of Ordon Spring soothed his worries a little, reminding him that they were somewhere safe now. He pulled back on the reigns to stop his horse, and the movement caught his boys' attention.

"Change back," Rusl ordered as he dismounted.

Link watched him a moment, intelligent blue eyes practically glowing in the dark, and then he complied. The young man shuddered, already crouching on the ground, and toppled over to his hands and knees. Rusl knelt down to hold him steady, helping him readjust to sit on the ground instead. Colin was at his other side in an instant.

"Did the potion not help?" Colin asked worriedly, not quite accustomed to the effects of such magical draughts.

"I'm okay," Link assured his little brother tiredly.

"We'll be sure of that when we get home," Rusl added, wrapping an arm around him. "You're riding the rest of the way, Link."

His eldest looked like he was going to argue, but a squeeze around his shoulders silenced him. Instead, he sighed, rising alongside Rusl. There was still some fight left in him, though. "It's not a long walk, Pa."

"Then I'm walking with you," Rusl countered, equally as stubborn as his boy.

"Me too!" Colin insisted.

"This is dumb," Link whined. "The horses--"

"Will follow," Rusl interrupted. "You want to walk, let's walk."

The farther into the village they went, the more at ease everyone became. Ordon held a peace to it that couldn't be easily described, except that the place radiated safety and peace and home. The symphony of crickets and gentle trickle of water eased Rusl's worries about any beasts following, allowing him to focus all his attention instead on ensuring his boy was alright.

Uli was waiting for them when they came home, medical supplies already at the ready alongside some milk. Her face was pinched in worry, but it relaxed a little at seeing everyone at least on their feet. Her eyes scanned the three quickly, and Rusl felt a twinge of guilt and gratitude mixing uneasily at the realization that she was well accustomed to searching for injuries by this point.

Colin escaped the fussing for the most part, aside from just the fact that he was the youngest. He insisted at least three times that he was unharmed, even lifting his tunic to prove it, and was sent to the blanket pile awaiting him in front of the hearth, a cup of milk in hand anyway. Link was next, immediately swept to the couch and told to lay down and take his shirt off. His unsteady gait had both his parents on high alert, and though it was evident that the potion had indeed done the trick (goddesses above, those had been puncture wounds, that beast had actually managed to bite into his boy), it was also evident he'd lost a faira mount of blood and possibly smacked his head. He was tentatively fed some milk and warm broth before Uli began to fuss over cleaning him up. Rusl helped her get Link out of his clothes and chainmail. As his wife wiped blood and grime with a warm, wet rag, Rusl examined the mail, looking at the breaks and resolving to repair it.

The warm water and soothing touch from his mother soothed Link into a half asleep state. Though Rusl knew Uli would prefer just outright giving Link a bath, the simple cleaning was more than enough for the chilly night, and Link's pride would only allow for so much fussing. Eventually the young man was snoring softly on the couch, dressed in Rusl's spare clothes and swaddled in more blankets than Rusl could count.

Rusl sighed in relief, the last tension finally draining out of him, and he dragged his feet to the table. His gaze moved between his sons, both of whom had fallen asleep. Colin was too big for Uli to carry anymore, so he tiredly resigned himself to the task, wincing as he rose.

"You're hurt," Uli said, and Rusl felt like it was possibly a death sentence in itself.

"Uli--"

"You're hurt," she emphasized, tears starting to shimmer in her eyes.

Spirits above, he couldn't make her cry. Rusl went to her, holding her reassuringly, and insisted he was fine. To prove his point, he moved to pick up Colin, trying to hide the pain from his face.

Uli was always a patient and gentle woman. She rarely expressed negative emotions outwardly - instead, it usually came up in her silence, in her melancholy and lack of energy. However, there were still times where it came forth, and she always expressed it in the worst ways possible.

His wife was hardly ever angry, but she would get disappointed.

"Don't," she said, her body stiff, breath short and choppy. "Don't pick him up. You'll set a bad example. They'll think it's okay to ignore injuries."

"Uli, I--"

"Do you want them to get hurt like this more? To hide it and make it worse?" And oh, if it wasn't the disappointment, it was the guilt and tears. Rusl felt exasperated and penitent all at once. He sighed, putting his pride aside and slowly sitting back down.

Uli burst into tears. Rusl immediately rose to go to her, and she pushed him back down.

"I'm sorry, I just--I get so worried," Uli sniffled, muffling her already soft sobs in a handkerchief.

"I know," Rusl said quietly, guilt eating away at him. "I'm sorry too."

Uli pushed a bottle of milk towards him wordlessly, fighting to regain her composure, and Rusl drank it without argument. The couple took in the silence and each other's company, and Uli settled beside him at the table as they watched their children sleep.

"We almost died out there," Rusl said suddenly. He cursed himself and was thankful that the words spilled out all at the same time; he didn't want to worry Uli, but he needed to say it. "That beast... I've never... it makes no sense. It was far more powerful than any skulltula I've ever seen, and it bled black blood."

"Black blood?" Uli repeated. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Rusl answered honestly, his gaze settling on Link. The milk he'd had warmed him from the inside out, mending and soothing the ache in his chest. Finally able to take a deep breath, he pulled Uli close as she rested her head on his shoulder. "But we'll figure it out together."

The pair sat there, taking comfort in each other, and a gentle silence hung in the air, holding the oncoming cold at bay.

#writing #there's whump so I'm adding it to the whumptober stuff #promptless but whatever #the prompt was make Nan happy lol #anyway #I feel like encountering a black blooded beast for the first time would be a bit unsettling #like you either question your sanity in that a normal monster is suddenly so hard to beat #or you realize things are about to get REALLY bad #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu twilight #lu rusl #lu colin #lu wolfie #whumptober

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thetwilightroadtonightfall · 4 months

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Overmorrow chapter 1 but it’s mermay (and I watched The Little Mermaid too many times as a kid)

#overmorrow #my art #my aus #blood tw #would you believe me if I said that this is not the first time I’ve drawn eph all bloody in this position #I was gonna make his injuries look worse but I remembered that it’s not whumptober 😅#anyway overmorrow has quite a few parallels with tlm. all accidental haha #the movie (and its sequel) was a big fav of mine ❤️#charis oc #seeker and finder #my posts

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undertheopensky · 9 months

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Life First

Whumptober Day 23: Alt #12 Broken

Characters: Four, Sky

Trigger warnings: Broken bones, violence to a child, (if you personally consider Four a child)

Read on Ao3!

Merry fucking Christmas.

-----

It sounds like a stick snapping beneath a thick layer of mud.

Four’s back arches, a high, wavering shriek caught behind his teeth. When he slumps, gasping and whimpering, only the whites of his eyes are visible below half-closed lids.

If there wasn’t razor steel at his throat Sky would have already lunged. As it is, he can feel his lips peeling away from his teeth in a snarl, and the tension running through him is definitely making the Yiga at his back sweat a little.

Good. They deserve much worse.

In a flash of red smoke the two grunts pinning Four down vanish. The blademaster, boot still pressed to Four’s thigh, remains, surveying his handiwork. “It’ll do,” he says at last, and steps back.

Four keens combined relief and agony. Sky twitches; feels hot blood run down his collarbone as the sickle grazes skin.

The blademaster laughs.

“Worry not - this is merely insurance. You’d never leave your friend behind, but there’s no way he’ll be able to keep up with you now. If you choose to carry him, you won’t be able to evade us, nor fight should you happen to come across your weapons. Can’t have you leaving before the real Hero shows up.”

Behind the featureless mask, the blademaster gives the impression of a self-satisfied smile.

“And if you do choose to abandon him… well. At least one of you will live to regret it.”

The next instant, he’s gone, along with the blade at Sky’s throat.

The choking clouds of scarlet don’t slow Sky down in the slightest. He ignores their acrid tang in favour of getting to Four, dropping to his knees so fast he nearly skins them, and fumbles for his hand, for some way of helping when he knows there’s nothing he can do.

Incredibly, Four clings back.

“It’s okay, I’m not leaving you, I won’t, we’ll be fine,” Sky says, over Four’s harsh panting.

Four opens his mouth, maybe trying to speak, but all that comes out is a strangled whimper.

“It’s okay,” Sky says again. Useless isn’t a feeling he appreciates; the Yiga had taken Fi, his bags, everything he could potentially have made a splint out of. They’d even taken his fucking sailcloth. “I’ll figure something out. You’ll be okay.”

Scanning the cell, he has to hope he’s not making a liar of himself. Unadorned stone blocks and heavy wood don’t offer much opportunity. Even if it didn’t look like it weighed as much as Koloktos, the gate had ‘clunked’ into place with the resonance of a lock sliding home, and Sky doubts either of them could fit through the narrow spaces between its palings.

He’s not gonna let that stop him, though. He squeezes Four’s hand again. “It’ll be alright. I won’t leave you. I won’t leave you to - whatever the fuck these fuckers -”

“Wha-wha-what’s stopping them, stopping them from doing it anyway? You-you-you need to get-get out of here, S-s-sky.”

Sky ignores this completely in favour of pulling off his overtunic. The white face, the chattering teeth, the stammer - was Four going into shock? Wasn’t there a massive blood vessel right by the bone in the leg? Fuck, he hopes Four isn’t bleeding out right in front of him, Sky thinks. Laying the tunic over Four’s torso as a makeshift blanket, he glances fruitlessly around the cell again, praying for inspiration.

“R-rope.”

Heart lurching, Sky quickly turns back to Four. “What’s that? I’m sorry, did I pull on you?” He starts trying to disentangle his hand, but Four’s tight grip doesn’t falter.

“N-no. The rope. Cut - cut the c-crossbar free.” Four points with one shaking hand.

The crossbar - on the gate, of course. The palings are held together by a long beam near the bottom, if Sky can cut it loose he might be able to force a gap wide enough to escape. Except -

“I don’t have anything sharp, they took all my weapons.” He scans the floor for loose rocks he could shape into a cutting edge.

“I - I do. Boot knife.”

That’s honestly not surprising. The smithy keeps half an armoury tucked away in various pockets; it would have been weirder if the Yiga hadn’t missed one. It sure as hell works in their favour now. “Where is it? Which foot?”

“Luh-left.”

Because of course the knife has to be in the boot on the broken leg. Sky grimaces. “Okay. I’m gonna move slow, okay?”

Sky definitely jostles him more than once working the knife free, though Four doesn’t so much as squeak through Sky’s whispered apologies. Sky squeezes his hand one last time before turning to the gate.

The rope is coarse and heavy, but any blade owned by Four is kept razor-sharp, and Sky makes steady progress sawing through key points. Near the edge, so the shadows half-hide it, in case of someone walking past - not that there’s been anyone since they were first dumped here. It seems like this area of the Yiga’s base isn’t well-travelled. Lucky for them.

Sky gets two logs free of the bar and starts wedging his foot and leg between them. If he can just work them another couple of inches apart -

But they’re thick and solid and not particularly given to movement. He has to stop, gasping for breath, before trying again, the force of it burning through his calf and his hip where his leg is cocked awkwardly out to the side. “Who designed this thing,” he hisses to himself, and braces for another go.

“S-sky,” Four gasps, and he abandons the attempt immediately in favour of scrambling back to him.

“What’s wrong, are you okay -” how can I help, he means but doesn’t ask, because how can he help, with no potions and no supplies?

Four takes a moment to gather himself, breathing shallow and hitched. “Luh-leverage. Y’need… leverage.” Struggling for words through the haze of pain. Sky takes a moment to check his pulse - a little fast, still strong, not too bad. “Th’ crossbar - use it - as a pry. Too strong.”

Sky considers. He’s making no progress as it is. And if he keeps enough of the rope intact -

Aha. “Got it,” he breathes, and moves back into action.

It’s a damn good thing no one’s come down here, because there’s no way they’d miss the mess that he makes of the gate - crossbar down, shreds of rope everywhere, and one serious trip hazard poking out the bottom while Sky wrestles it into place. At one end of it he’d left the rope and bulky knots attached so he can do what he’s doing now: throw his whole body weight into the other end of the rope, looped just once around a paling further down. As Four had said - he needed leverage, and this makeshift pulley system is going to give him that leverage.

Apparently he’d picked up more from Groose than he’d thought.

The rope groans worryingly. Sky hadn’t been entirely successful in leaving it undamaged as he pried it out of its knots; a couple times he’d had to shave the edges a bit to convince it to come free. He can only hope it holds long enough. It’d be a pretty useless pulley system without a connecting line, and he’s not quite ready to sacrifice his belt to the cause.

(He will, if it comes down to it. He’d just rather keep his pants on if at all possible.)

There’s another groan, and then a crack. Swearing, Sky falls back on his ass as the tension goes out of the rope - fuck, he’s gonna wind up doing this escape in just his tunic, isn’t he -

Wait, no. The crack had been the paling giving way. Eager and apprehensive in equal measure, Sky studies the new hole.

It’s… not ideal. The log had broken low, less than a foot off the ground. If he crawls, gets his shoulders low where the gap is widest, Sky can just make it through. But there’s no way Four will be able to do the same, not with his leg busted up. Sky will have to drag him. But would he survive that?

In truth, Sky’s been trying not to think about it. As he worked on the door he’d been wracking his brain for what he remembered about broken legs, and it had just made him more anxious. He’s sure that Four is okay right now - he’s in pain, but breathing steadily, shock staved off temporarily - but that’s going to change as soon as he moves him. In fact, without a splint or something to keep his leg steady, moving him could well kill him.

(But leaving him here would be worse.)

“Four,” Sky says, slipping back to his prone form and taking his hand, “Four, I cracked the gate, there’s a hole now.”

“G-good. Get out of here, S-s-sky.”

Despite his stubborn words - Four’s frightened. It’s in the white of his eyes and his gritted teeth and his knuckles where he clings to Sky’s hand. As his mouth says leave me and everything else says don’t leave me.

“Four, I need you to listen to me, and listen all the way through,” Sky says, unyielding. “Can you do that?”

If Four’s in too much pain to focus – if Sky has to make this decision and then live with the consequences –

Four grunts and cracks one eye. Still clear, still alert.

“Your leg is bad, but holding for now. If I move you, it could kill you. If you don’t want to risk it, and you can swear to me that’s the only reason, I’ll leave you here - briefly - and come back with healing supplies as soon as I can.”

Four opens his mouth, probably to argue; Sky ploughs on.

“If I carry you out of here, it’s a straight run to the exit, as fast as I can make it - we’ll have to come back for our gear, because as soon as I disrupt whatever’s going on in there –” he waves a hand at Four’s leg, disconcertingly swollen – “we’re on a time limit. And if we don’t make it out within that time limit, and find help, you’re going to die. I won’t do that to you without your say so.”

“S’not safe,” Four says. “I’ll just – s-slow you down. Be quicker – if you run without me – an’ get help.”

“There is no option that involves me leaving you behind in this hellhole,” Sky says frankly.

Making a frustrated noise, Four thumps his head against the floor. “Why not – jus’ carry me – t’our gear – an’ heal up there? I know – I’ve got – ‘nough potions – t’ deal with this.”

“Because I remember the way out, but I don’t know where they took our things,” Sky says. “And I don’t know if I could find them in time before –” his throat closes over. Before you bleed out.

Four grunts again. He doesn’t say anything this time, though, and seems to be genuinely thinking it over. Heart in his throat, Sky waits.

He tries one last time to convince him. “S’not safe. Y’d have a – better chance – if y’left me – behind.”

“You know damn well that’s not gonna happen.”

Four whines and flexes his hands like he’d like to strangle him. Then, finally:

“F-fine.”

He takes another shuddering breath; Sky squeezes his hand.

“Take me with you. Let’s get the f-fuck out of here.”

“You got it, buddy,” says Sky.

First is the awkward operation of getting them both out. Sky has to move Four to the exit, as close as possible, then wiggle through himself before reaching back to drag Four through. “This’ll hurt,” Sky warns him.

Four’s already shoving his leather-covered forearm in his mouth, so his response comes out slurred. “Jus’ ge’ on wi’ it.”

Sky grits his teeth, makes sure his hands are secure in Four’s armpits, and heaves.

Four’s howl is muffled by the bracer.

It’s not far to go, thank the goddesses. Sky tries to make it happen in one smooth motion and doesn’t quite manage. But he gets Four’s shoulders close enough to the gap, then very awkwardly crawls over the top of him to wiggle through first. Four’s too preoccupied with trying to breathe to notice Sky doing his best not to knee him in the face.

Time or even Warriors would not have fit through the hole – even Sky had had to worm his shoulders through at an uncomfortable angle. It’s a good thing Four’s even smaller. Sky rolls out his shoulder, grimacing at the twinging complaints – nothing pulled, just cranky. He’s fine.

Now for the hard part.

Sky gets back down on his belly – there’s no other way to reach in – and touches Four’s shoulder. Damn, how is he going to get a decent hold from this angle? “Hey. Brace yourself.”

Again, Four’s scream of pain is stifled in thick leather. Sky cringes, both at knowing he’s causing his brother such agony and at the way the noise echoes off the stone. They can’t stay undetected forever, but the longer they can go –

No use worrying about it. They’re both out of that cell, even if Four’s weeping through gritted teeth at what it took to get them there. Sky gently tugs Four’s wrist free of his teeth to start pulling him over his shoulder.

Shuddering, Four tries to wave him off. “S-stop, wait, gimme a minute –”

“We don’t have a minute,” says Sky, implacable, and hauls Four up.

This time, his shriek weakly peters out. He’s still breathing – Sky can feel the unsteady puffs against his shoulder – but that last effort had been too much for Four. He’s out.

In all honesty, it’s probably best this way. Sky can pin Four’s broken leg against his chest to minimise jostling, without worrying about if it was hurting him.

He just hopes he stays unconscious until they’re well clear of the hideout.

With Four’s body locked in place over his shoulders Sky sets off. He doesn’t know what’s down the corridor to the left and can’t risk it being a dead end, so he heads right, back the way they’d come. Even then, his anxiety rises – he can see the end of it from here, blank and shadowed and featureless, but he swears they’d come this way, there has to be a door or something.

Then, as he comes level with it, a gap in the stone opens up. There’s nothing – magical, or mechanical about it. It was just hidden by perspective and the careful shadows. If it’s all like this he’s going to have to be so careful –

At the peak of the stairs, Sky pauses.

Here the passage turns from stone to wood, wrapping around the second floor of a cavernous room like a balcony – and he can hear metal on metal and grunts of exertion. Cautiously, he peers over the railing.

Down below, half a dozen Yida foot soldiers are sparring. They’re using the sickles Sky is already familiar with and another, full-circle spiked razor of a thing to practice lethal-looking strikes. Even as he watches, one of them muffs a parry and yelps when blood is drawn.

None of them are looking up, and he’d like to keep it that way.

There’s no way they can look like they’re meant to be here, so their best bet is to not be spotted at all. Fortunately the balcony is heavily shadowed, and by sticking to the far wall and moving in a low profile, Sky can avoid attracting notice. He creeps along the edges, trying not to flinch at every crash and ‘ha!’, and nearly has heart failure when an archer teleports onto the top of a nearby platform. Luckily, their back is turned, and they just fire off a few arrows for their fellows to dodge before vanishing again. Sky breathes a sigh of relief and slips out the door.

This next set of stairs, he remembers, open up straight onto the floor of another room. A single, central pillar built up out of wood sits in the middle. He has no idea what it’s for and also doesn’t care, except that he can’t see if the room is clear, and he can’t exactly stand around waiting. Sky gets as far as the pillar itself and cautiously peers around it – and scrambles back just in time to avoid the huge katana that slashes down.

Sky backs away as the blademaster rounds the wooden tower. “You know, I was just thinking to myself,” he remarks, almost conversationally. “If we’re being technical – we don’t even need you alive, really. Your bodies will make a good enough lure.” He raises his weapon for a strike.

Sky can see the path the greatsword will take – observes the ripple of magic along the blade – sidesteps, and lets the razor’s edge of both blaze past him. He doesn’t give the blademaster a chance to recover – as soon as the blow passes he’s racing forward. If he wasn’t carrying Four he’d use the solid force of his shoulder to drive the wind out of them, but instead he sidesteps a grab, feints back, and as he darts back the other way to get past he slams his leg up.

He’ll have a bruise later – his shin had made contact with something too solid to be anything except a protective cup – but for now it doesn’t matter. The blademaster crumples and Sky has a clear shot to the stairs.

No point trying for stealth anymore. Sky takes them two at a time, feeling the burn in his thighs, and hits the landing at a dead run. Round the corner, over the bridge, flashes of colour through the railings –

Hanging floor to ceiling, a tapestry blocks the corridor. For a second panic wells – had he forgotten a corner, gotten turned around, were they lost trapped captured again – before Sky spots the edges fluttering in a breeze he can’t feel and the faint glow of firelight from behind it and remembers –

He doesn’t hesitate, just ducks to the side so the brocade can’t tangle around them, and they’re in a circular room lined by stairs and identical tapestry-covered passages and which one which one he remembers a shift to the right and angles left and thank the goddesses the first tapestry he pulls aside has dunes of gathered sand and the taste of desert ozone.

Scarlet smoke and laughter. Out of time. But – if it had to be anywhere –

Sky leaps back from the exit in time for the heavy fabric to flap back in the face of an archer who’d just teleported in. Others poof into existence, strips of paper fluttering down, and start to circle, to cut off any escape. Backing up, step by step, Sky passes through the line of braziers, and hesitates on the central pedestal as if realizing he had nowhere to run. The raised platform gives him a good vantage point, lets him count masked faces peering up at him – at least eight, maybe more, jeering gleefully as they crowd closer.

Sky waits, tense and ready, until one draws their bowstring back – then he whirls, one leg extended, and sends embers scattering all around the room.

There are screams of surprise and pain. The effect is the same: every Yiga scrambling away from the bite of the flames, while Sky runs through them, unafraid.

The base itself is hewn from stone, but there are enough flammable objects in the antechamber alone to keep them busy. Sky’s gone to the chill place in his heart where only the next few seconds matter, the place that had kept him alive when all he wanted to do was lie down and die. It doesn’t matter that the fire is a short-lived distraction, doesn’t matter that they’ll catch up all too soon – for the next few seconds, all that matters is there’s no hands reaching for him, no weapon’s edges near enough to harm.

The searing heat of desert wind has never felt so much like triumph.

Stone floor gives way to sand. Sky takes a moment to be thankful the Yiga had left them their boots – they’re not even in the sun yet and he can feel the heat of it even through the leather.

Though burning hot, the sand’s not as deep as he’d expected. There’s even bare patches where rock’s been blasted clean, presumably by the wind screaming through the canyon. Darting between them gives Sky a brief reprieve from trying not to slip on the sand, gives him a solid platform to push off from and gain a few precious yards of distance.

As the canyon narrows and closes in Sky’s showered with grit from above – more sand, tossed off the peaks by the wind. He’s got no hands free to shield his eyes so all he can do is duck his head and run through it. Then the path diverges and Sky has to hesitate because he doesn’t remember this, the trip had gone in nauseating flashes of teleportation but he only remembers long and near-featureless stone walls so which way which way –

Down, it had to be down, the left is too open and flat and he’d remember passing quite so many creepy frog statues on their way in, and there’s the slim possibility of cover in the various ledges and outcrops. Up til now the canyon’s offered nothing, and while Sky can’t risk stopping and hiding, he’ll take the opportunity to break line of sight.

He heads down.

Four stirs as he passes the first ledge. His head tilts against the pull of gravity as Sky stumbles.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sky whispers, and his footing fails again and they both jolt with it. “I’m sorry, Four, we’re nearly there, just a little longer –”

He just makes a noise too soft to be a groan and goes still again.

Sky wishes he could spare a hand to check Four’s pulse.

There’s no bare spots now. The sand’s gotten deep, caught between the tall stone walls, and it’s real work for Sky to keep up the pace. At least this is mostly downhill, he thinks, though the slope is too shallow for – oh, nice, as they pass under an outcrop the rock walls start to drop away, and the sand does too. There must be a supporting shelf underneath that the cliffs spring up from, and without it, sand tumbles away in a steep dune that would be awful to climb in this heat.

But Sky’s not climbing today. Making sure Four is still secure, still breathing, Sky steps forward onto the looser sand. One leg stays loose, to push and to steer; the other he locks at the knee, and slides down the sand like his own foot is a sled. The more distance they can get the better – without supplies, the heat of the desert will wear him down fast. Not to mention the still-pursuing Yiga.

A flash of smoke; Sky’s duck sends him skidding forward and the sickle aimed at his shoulder misses completely. The sand makes him fumble. He tries to stand, slips and falls to one knee, stands, takes two sweeping strides and almost falls again. Fuck sand.

Fortunately it’s also hampering the Yiga. The one he’d dodged is still tumbling down the sand dune some fifty yards away now, and a second who’d teleported in had, after firing a poorly-aimed arrow, immediately fallen over with a shriek when gravity reasserted itself.

Sky would probably find it funnier if not for his brother potentially bleeding out over his shoulders.

Still, their inability to find their feet means they’re following the slope of the dune. Sky angles off, pointing himself in the direction of a stone pillar-monument looking thing. Even a few seconds out of the sun will help though nothing can be done for the way his heart is thundering –

He’s far too close when a silhouette separates itself from the shadows at the base of the pillar. Sky kicks up a whirl of sand, hoping to blind them for a few precious seconds –

His eyes catch on blonde and indigo and his brain goes !!!

“Wild!” he blurts out, coming full circle and blinking in disbelief. Wild isn’t wearing the heat-resistant silks – it’s a dark-coloured bodysuit similar to the Yiga, which was why Sky’s instincts had reacted the way they did. His silhouette is near-identical, except his hair is pinned in a bun instead of a scruffy topknot. “You, what, how did you find us? No, wait, nevermind, we need to get to Hyrule now –”

Say what you wanted about Wild’s recklessness and mischief. In an emergency, he’s all business, and quick on the uptake besides. He hooks an arm around the spot Sky is gripping Four’s wrist, so they’re both in contact with him, and taps at the Slate.

They dissolve into blue light.

#whumptober 2023 #linked universe #lu four #lu sky #lu fic #skies writes #featuring first aid for complete fucking morons #DO NOT DO WHAT SKY DID HERE #if nothing else he should have torn up the tunic and used it to tie four’s legs together #not ideal but definitely better than what ACTUALLY happened #if you spot any typos please tell me bc i typed most of this on my phone with no formatting #tumblr ate my formatting and i’m cranky

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