Every so often he hears it, the crystal clear tones of the Ocarina of Time. Faint and distant, rarely at the same time or place. Sometimes he'll go weeks without hearing it, and sometimes he hears it every other day. And yet, he's never been able to find it's source, no matter how hard he's tried. It's infuriating, and it's only the thought of what could be on the other side of that sound that keeps his frustration in check.
What is he supposed to do, if Link is here? What if he's from a different time, like the Princess is? What if it's not him at all, but someone whose inherited that precious instrument decades or centuries down the line? A million questions spin like a hurricane inside his brain, and he figures out the answer to approximately none of them before he hears it again. It's close, this time.
Sheik rushes like a man possessed towards the sound, taking to the trees when the winding roads near the outskirts of the city prove to be too inefficient. Bounding from branch to branch, clambering over rooftops and leaping across bridges, he cares for nothing except the path in front of him and that sound until--]
Link.
[--He stops just as quickly, breathless but frozen above the Hero of Time's resting spot, disbelief and hope warring in equal measure in his eyes. Is it... really him? If he breathes, if he moves, if he says anything other than his name in an urgent whisper, will he disappear without a trace, like he did that day seven years ago?
... The branch he's on creaks with his trembling as he waits.]
for timesensitive
Every so often he hears it, the crystal clear tones of the Ocarina of Time. Faint and distant, rarely at the same time or place. Sometimes he'll go weeks without hearing it, and sometimes he hears it every other day. And yet, he's never been able to find it's source, no matter how hard he's tried. It's infuriating, and it's only the thought of what could be on the other side of that sound that keeps his frustration in check.
What is he supposed to do, if Link is here? What if he's from a different time, like the Princess is? What if it's not him at all, but someone whose inherited that precious instrument decades or centuries down the line? A million questions spin like a hurricane inside his brain, and he figures out the answer to approximately none of them before he hears it again. It's close, this time.
Sheik rushes like a man possessed towards the sound, taking to the trees when the winding roads near the outskirts of the city prove to be too inefficient. Bounding from branch to branch, clambering over rooftops and leaping across bridges, he cares for nothing except the path in front of him and that sound until--]
Link.
[--He stops just as quickly, breathless but frozen above the Hero of Time's resting spot, disbelief and hope warring in equal measure in his eyes. Is it... really him? If he breathes, if he moves, if he says anything other than his name in an urgent whisper, will he disappear without a trace, like he did that day seven years ago?
... The branch he's on creaks with his trembling as he waits.]