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Time has that oddly peculiar quality of never going at the right pace at the right time, even for those who have a minor control over it. In times where it would seem very prudent for things to slow down, time has a nasty habit of speeding right up. A quality Rook found out the hard way, in the time it took for him to wish time would slow down, he'd already slammed into the top branches of the evergreen tree.

The world around him twirled and spun. Cascading from branch to branch and wished dearly for everything to just stop. A flock of birds erupted into the sky as Rook finally came to a sudden, unpleasant halt somewhere in the middle of the tree. His body was contorted at a very uncomfortable angle, and every single strap, belt and item of clothing had somehow managed to tangle on nearly everything nearby.

Rook held very still, the branches quivering betrayed their fragility. The tittering screeches of the monster above had grown quiet, then finally silent. Their prey too far from reach, they turned tail and retreated into their tunnel. What was left of it, at least. A mercy, perhaps, since it provided one less thing to worry about. But that still didn't quite resolve the issue at hand...

“Rook!”

Pam's shrill voice cut through the silence, she was somewhere above him, but looking up was a risk Rook wasn't willing to take. Judging by the way the tree shuddered and rustled, she was descending carefully towards him.

A choice needed to be made. Try to untangle himself and risk falling, or suffer the indignity of being rescued by Pam. He glanced down, and instantly wished he had not. He had to be at least a 'fatal-if-you-fall-from-this-height' distance off the ground, and the sight alone made his chest cease up with fright. The branches around him gave a horrible lurch as Pam continued to clamber downwards, and desperate for some stability, Rook tried to reach for something, anything, he could hold onto.

Pam shouted something above him, but couldn't quite make all of it out for the pounding blood in his ears.

“...Stop!...Scarf!”

A deafening crack pierced the air, and Rook felt his body lurch. He chanced a look upwards and a cold chill ran through his spine. He knew why Pam was yelling about the scarf. Both ends had snagged on a thick branch above him, and the only thing stopping him from dangling by his neck, was a thin, spindly branch his bedroll had caught on.

And it had just snapped.

All too soon, Rook's whole body was enveloped by a horrible weightlessness. This might have been the moment where one's life would flash before their eyes, he thought, but no such vision came. In fact, nothing more really happened beyond a slight drop. The scarf around his neck felt tighter, but he could certainly still breathe, and it was quite apparent that he was very much still alive. Very slowly, and very carefully, he stole another glance up above.

Pam was sprawled along a sturdy branch, she had somehow managed to catch his hand before he fell too far. Although she seemed to be struggling to maintain her grip. It would have almost been a funny spectacle, if not for the whole inch-away-from-death thing. Which was only second place to the realisation that he was now freely hanging some fifty feet off the ground, and that the only thing that stopped him from truly falling, was a spindly little Hylian.

“Eru!” She call in a strained voice. “Eru, get down here and untangle that scarf! Then I can let go!”

Rook froze. Let go? She- She isn't seriously going to just drop me? Is she?

“Er- W- What do you mean... Let go?” Rook said quickly, keeping his eyes off the ground.

Pam shifted on the branch, sending a shower of snow down onto Rook's head. “Look. I get it, you're scared of heights!” She barked. “But you can fly, so letting you go will be perfectly safe!”

“N-no that's not-”

“I know your pride won't let you admit it...” She grunted again, clearly straining. Slightly above them, announced by another hail of snow, Eru was beginning to clamber down towards the scarf. “...But I can't pull you up. So get your wings ready!”

“You don't unders- Pfft!-” Another clump of snow clapped Rook straight across the beak. Above him, Eru was fumbling with the tangled ends of his scarf. Panic gripped his chest. There was little chance of surviving a fall from this high up, and even less chance that he'd suddenly learn to fly on the descent. If he didn't tell Pam right now, reluctant as he was to do so, she'd eventually find out when poking his crumpled body at the base of the tree.

One end of his scarf flopped beside him. Eru was now disentangling the other, he could feel Pam's grip starting to slack a little.

“Pam. Don't.”

“Oh for heaven's sake! Just fly to safety-”

“I can't. I don't know how!”

There was an agonizingly long silence to follow. Pam had an incredulous look upon her face, as if she'd just been slapped.

“I... beg your pardon?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?!” He howled “I. Can't. Fly.”

The other end of his scarf flopped casually beside him, and for one heart-stopping moment, Rook swore Pam was going to drop him anyway. In hindsight, sassing the person preventing you falling from a great height might not have been his best idea, but mercifully, she kept her grip.

“What do you mean you can't fly? You have wings, don't you?”

“Just do something that doesn't involve dropping me!”

“Try swinging him to another branch, like that one, there!” Eru called out, his voice nearly drowned out by the groaning branches and rustling leaves.

Rook felt his body lurching again when Pam started, without any consultation or query, to swing him to and fro. Panic was beginning to pulse in the pit of his stomach, a vivid memory of being tossed around by the wind had surfaced. A memory of a dizzying, endless fall. Of distant, faded screams and the haunting image of the ground rushing towards him...

“Rook! What are you doing?! Grab it!”

Snapping back to reality almost as violently as the branch that had struck his beak, Rook lunged wildly. His fingers brushed against the cold bark but before he could grip it, it veered away.

“I can't hold you forever, get a grip!”

Second times the charm, as they say. As Pam swung him back towards the branch Rook seized it in his outstretched hand and clung to it as if his life depended on it, because, quite frankly. It did. Hauling himself up onto the sturdy branch, Rook considered his options. While clinging to this branch for the rest of his life would be one way to leave a mark on history, he'd rather be remembered for something sensible. This did however, bring about one rather unsavoury topic.

Getting down.

Above him, Pam was wittering something incoherent. Below him, the still horrifying distance to the ground remained. Climbing might be an option, or, well. The only option when he thought about it. He didn't fancy the idea of being carried down, Pam would never let him hear the end of it.

The tree began to shake, prompting him to grip the branch even tighter. A flash of orange passed by, and soon Rook realised that she was climbing down, with, or without him.

“Maybe I'll find someone with a ladder.” She huffed, and nodded to Rook's bag. “Hope you've still got some food in there.”

“What- You're just leaving me up here, are you?”

“I'm not freezing my arms off waiting for you to grow a spine.”

Rook hadn't felt quite so incensed in quite a while, so deep was the offence that he forgot for a moment that he was almost fifty feet off the ground. He bolted upright, preparing to deliver a scathing rebuttal about how she was the most spinless woman he'd ever known. Until he lost his balance, and toppled off his perch.

For a brief moment, the world went silent again. Rook felt his insides climbing up his torso as he fell. Pam had tried to catch him, again, but missed, all that remained now was a long fall. Everything had turned into a blur, the trees, the sky, the moon. The wind whipped the back of his head as he peeled away from the tree, there was nothing to grab onto, nothing for his clothes to catch on. Rook wanted to shut his eyes, and pretend for what little remained of his life that this wasn't happening. But fear kept them wide open.

Once again, he found himself expecting to see his life flash before his eyes. And once again it didn't happen. All that followed was a gentle 'fwump' as he landed in a drift of powder-snow. Gentle may not have been the right word to have used, as his whole body hurt. But given the fact he'd somehow survived a large drop with only a few bruises, rather than being smeared on the ground, using the right word was his last concern.

Rook stayed still for quite some time, he could still feel his legs, which was a plus. He remembered Heroth lecturing him that if you lose the feeling in your legs after al fall, you've probably broken your neck and must not move. But more than that, he could still feel the furious indignation at Pam's remark burning away in his chest. Or maybe it was a broken rib, who knew? He held little doubts that Eru would want to perform a full examination when he eventually clambered down. But for now, remaining still seemed like the best choice.

“...There he is! Pam, over here!”

“Is he dead?”

“He'd better not be, after all the times I sewed him back together.”

Adrenaline was still flooding through his veins, and feeling quite sick, Rook refused to dignify either of them with a response. Until Pam started prodding him with a branch.
“He's not moving.”

“That may be, but he's very much living.” Eru chuckled.

“How can you tell?”

“The way he's glowering at you.”

“Ah.”

Eru stooped down beside him, and very carefully ran his fingers along Rook's neck. It wasn't a comfortable feeling, but if he had suffered a neck injury, his pride would have to take a back seat. He only wished Eru would hurry up. His feathers were getting wet.

After a minute or two, it was honestly hard to tell, Eru stood back up. “Your neck isn't broken, somehow.”

“So we don't need to carry him them? Good.” Pam snorted. Since she'd stopped poking his leg, she'd taken up to leaning against a nearby boulder. Wearing her signature snide face, it was enough to finally push him to the edge. Not unlike the Lizalfos from earlier.

Silently, he stood up. Dusted the snow off his clothes and took a deep breath. He wanted to punch her so very badly, but if he did, his payment would likely be forfeit...

“Are you going to be good to carry on?” She sneered. “We've got at least one mountain to climb, and I'm not carrying a big, flightless Cucco-”

If one could hear the sound of a person snapping, then the valley would have been filled with the sound of a thousand ceramic plates being hurled down a staircase. Rook whirled around on the spot, and threw a punch aimed squarely at her head. He'd had enough of being likened to that pitiful animal and hearing it from her of all people, whom he'd saved a number of times now, was the final straw. For the briefest of moments, the world went red.

One might also expect to hear the sound of breaking bones, should someone throw a full-body punch at a boulder like Rook had considering that Pam managed to avoid the blow. The fact that said boulder cracked instead of shattering his arm, leaving behind the kind of crater a high-velocity cannonball would make, came as a surprise to everyone involved. Not least of all Rook himself.

After a deafening silence, the gravity of what he'd done began to set in. The sneer had been truly and thoroughly wiped from Pam's face. Not that Rook could blame her, he was just as shocked, if for different reasons. Very slowly and carefully, he unclenched his fist. It certainly didn't feel like he'd just left a dent in a solid slab of stone, there wasn't an ounce of pain in his arm.

His eye flicked to Pam, who seemed to be coming to terms with the realisation that if she hadn't dodged out of the way, her head would have exploded like a hydromelon launched at a wall from a trebuchet. Similarly, the realisation that Rook had almost rearranged her entire skull struck him like the aforementioned projectile hydromelon.

Pam squinted at him, looking him over with curious intent.

“Fascinating...” She began. “Not only are you fundamentally useless as a Rito, but you're also extremely volatile and emotionally fragile...”

It took every shred, every fibre of his being to not lash out again. The idea of painting the snow with the contents of her head was a tempting prospect, but it would ultimately prove her right. The objectively worst outcome. His eyes brimming with fire, Rook pivoted away from the infuriating woman. He still had to wonder just how he'd landed himself into this mess, was this some grand, cosmic punishment for refusing to fly? Was it sheer dumb luck? He wasn't sure, but it was certainly a lot easier to pin the blame on something that couldn't snipe back with snide remarks.

Rook absent-mindedly played with the hilt of his sword. He longed for the solitude of the forest back home, just him, and his crude training dummy he'd pretend to be whoever had wronged him most recently. Instead, he was stuck in a frozen valley in the middle of goodness knows where, feathers coated with snow and his pride royally bruised.

“Perhaps... Perhaps we ought to make a campsite?” Eru muttered. He was watching Rook carefully, regarding him as one might a dangerous animal.

Rook hated the idea of spending another minute with either of the two. But there wasn't exactly a wealth of places to go to get away from them, Pam's hair was like a beacon in this barren wasteland. Not that Rook's bright blue feathers were any better. Plus, they had the tinderboxes.

Silently, the trio set about their preparations. They found a small, sheltered alcove not too far from the tree. The wind had started to pick back up, and brought with it a sweeping chill. Rook watched, bemused, as the siblings tried to set a tent up on the snow. Their inexperience with cold climates was starting to show; neither of them had bothered to pack the snow they were trying to build on. It wasn't until they observed Rook stomping about the patch his tent would be that they decided to do the same.

Their next blunder was an attempt to start a fire. Pam had vanished into the tent to examine their food supply, while Eru placed a rather pitiful pile of damp branches and leaves on top of the snow between the tents. If they didn't have a short supply of tinder, Rook would have happily waited for them to figure it out.

“Oi!” Eru barked as Rook snatched the tinderbox from his hands.

“It'll never catch.”

“What? It's wood, isn't it?”

“Damp wood.”

Eru paused for a moment. Looking from the tinderbox to the pile of branches and back again. The gears were spinning in his head before eventually he slumped back down.

“Right. Now what?”

“Have you got a sharp knife?”

Reaching into his backpack, Eru carefully extracted a rather robust, if old looking knife. One that had not been treated well or cared for in a very long time. Heroth would not have been pleased to see the state of it.
“Here. Watch.” Rook growled, seizing one of the branches from the pile. Silently thanking his past self for having the foresight to keep his broken training blade sharp, he began scraping off the damp outer bark, leaving behind the dry innards. Once satisfied, Rook placed the dry branch onto his lap and gestured to Eru. “Now, you try.”

It took Eru a good few tries, and a good few more cuts before he got the hang of the process. They sat quietly, whittling away at the branches, with the only sound being the shuffling of bags from the tent behind them. Rook quiet enjoyed the peace, it was nice to not hear the shrill, screeching scientist and her tirades. Eru made good company in that regard, if only because he didn't talk much.

Or so Rook thought.

Eru paused in his whittling, and cast a wary glance towards him.

“Hey, Rook-” Eru paused again. For a moment, it seemed he was debating with himself if whatever he was about to say, was worth saying. “-That temper of yours. You need to keep it under control.”

Rook narrowed his eyes. “It is under control.”

“Really? Because it looked to me like you almost pulverised my sister's head in a fit of rage.”

She was asking for it! Rook wanted dearly to yell. He'd used those words once before, many years ago. A girl at the village, roughly his age and the daughter of the Elder. Anla was her name. She'd taken great delight in poking at his unwillingness to fly, but when that got too boring for her, Anla directed her abuse at Komogo.

Rook couldn't recall the exact details of what had happened, but he vividly remembered the aftermath. Having beaten Anla within an inch of her life, the Elder, as one might expect, had been utterly furious. All manner of threats of retribution had been hurled, and Rook's pleas that Anla had been the instigator fell upon deaf ears.

Heroth had not been terribly impressed either, and the next day they departed from their usual rounds of drills and practice. Instead, Heroth lead him out into the woods, back to the very spot they'd first met.
“Take a deep breath.” She'd told him, not in her usual firm, military voice. But in a softer, understanding tone. “When you feel your temper blinding you. Just take a deep breath and focus...”

Rook lurched back into the present at the sound of something snapping. The branch he'd been holding lay crushed inside his balled fist. Could he really be blamed for losing his temper earlier? He'd narrowly avoided death three times in the space of an hour, all while trying to protect the lives of his two charges. Only to be rewarded with verbal abuse after being forced to confront his fears. Who wouldn't lose their patience?

As he unfurled his first, the answer popped into his mind before he could refuse it.

Captain Heroth. She wouldn't have.

She, the Stalwart Wall.

Despite being sat on a mound of packed snow, Rook's body was burning with heat.

“Hey- Where are you going?” Eru called, flinching at the pile of branches hurled into his lap.

“I need space. If you're getting eaten by something, call me.” Rook paused, the odd rustle was still coming from Pam's tent. There was little doubt she could hear their conversation. “And if something is eating her. You are on your own.”

Eru's yells faded into the wind, a peaceful spot was what Rook needed.

Take a deep breath and focus. Close your eyes. Find your anger, and hold it. Were Heroth's words of wisdom. And sitting opposite the dented boulder, he tried to do just that. Enveloped in darkness, Rook pictured himself holding a ball. Or was it a box? His brow furrowed, trying to bring whatever it was into focus. As its form began to take a clearer shape in his mind, he moved on to the next step.

Imagine a field of stars. Each star is a good thing in your life. I want you to look at them, and while doing so. Drop your anger into the void. Rook had grown quite good at creating a star field in his minds eye. In the very center, the brightest, boldest star amidst a few was Komogo. His best friend and dearest brother. To the left of that, were his parents. Well. Foster parents. But family none the less. A pleasant, soothing calm drifted around him as he looked to the star on his right. His favourite soup, lovingly prepared and a perfect treat for a frigid night...

He looked up, searching for the star that represented Heroth. But something caught his eye, or rather, his minds eye.

A little purple star, hanging in the void of his periphery. His focus wandered to it, and has he did so, it seemed to grow brighter. The object in his hands long forgotten, The Interloper glowed with a dark, scornful light that seemed to resonate with something in his core. Something that left an unpleasant warmth in his chest.

He wanted to tear his mind away from this hateful star, but it seemed to move with him. Like it was a part of him, just... Distant. Something he couldn't control. For the briefest of moments, the star pulsed, and the grim purple light gave way to a fierce crimson haze. One by one, the other stars began to fade into the depths of his mind, along with their calming influence.

Deep within himself, a familiar sting of rage began to stir. Rook's brow started to ache while he tried desperately to regain control, to wrestle this star back into the deepest pit of his being. But it didn't want to go. Why would it? It was a part of him after all. Or so it insisted.

The harder Rook fought, the brighter the star blazed. Familiar voices echoed around him, and while he couldn't make out their words, he could feel their intentions. Condescending and belittling. The star revelled in his growing anger, and whispered brutal encouragement. You embarked on this journey to prove them all wrong, didn't you? Well? What are you waiting for? Prove it!

Prove what? He'd already shown himself capable both in Hateno Village, and in those awful tunnels. What more proof did he need to give? His rage began to subside. He didn't need to prove himself to anyone.
The Interloper did not like this answer.

Blackish-purple flecks began to rise and swirl around him, the Interloper's anger was trying to force its way in. But when that failed to work, it tried a new tactic. The flecks began to coalesce like a swarm of ravenous locusts, writhing and contorting into an unpleasantly familiar visage.

It was Anla. Or something very similar to her, that stepped out of the cloud.

And what about her? The voice chittered. Don't you want to prove her of all people wrong?You already taught her a lesson once? Why not go the extra mile...?

Another figure stepped out of the cloud. Tall and threatening. It marched towards Anla, and with one swift, terrifying strike, delivered a punch that shattered her skull like an eggshell. The mirage of Anla dissolved, swirling back into the cloud. The other figure remained, staring intently. It took a moment, but Rook soon realised that this new figure was none other than a mirror of himself.

...Wouldn't it be so easy? You saw what you did to that boulder, didn't you?

No. As much as he hated Anla, killing her wouldn't solve anything. It wouldn't prove anything. He had indeed taught her a lesson once. And it nearly cost him his training.

But that didn't stop you trying to murder that scientist, did it?... The Interloper growled.

The scene changed. The flecks swirled and churned, eventually leaving behind the likeness of Pam. Rook watched as his reflection hurled a punch that Pam swiftly avoided. The scene froze, swirling back in on itself, and repeated. This time, Pam didn't get out of the way.

...She doesn't respect you. She doesn't like you. She doesn't care about you. She'll get in your way, stop you, drag you down. Are you going to let her?

Of course not. That slip in temper was something Rook would have to live with, and it was the very reason here was here in his mind-scape. He was secretly (at least, as secretly as one could be towards something with access to ones feelings, memories and emotions) rather grateful that Pam had gotten out of the way. As much as he disliked the wretched woman, killing her wouldn't solve anything either. He would be quite content to simply never see her again. Rook began to feel a wave of calm washing over him.

The Interloper really did not like this answer.

Cowardice! It seethed. You have the strength to do whatever you want! Take whatever you want! Do you think he would hesitate?...

The mist swirled again. And out stepped Gus. Rook's stomach clenched.

...You remember what he did to you? He humiliated you. Beat you. You think he'd hesitate for a moment?

Gus was an absolute bastard. Rook conceded. But what point was the Interloper trying to prove? Did it want him to become a beast like Gus? Rook hadn't sworn an oath to become a monsterous oaf like him.

The Interloper's voice dropped to a sinister tone. Oaths are just words. They cannot cut through flesh, or pierce a heart. Your precious mentor is probably dead by now. So to whom do you owe that oath?

He refused to believe that Heroth could be dead. Hylians lived for a very long time, by Rito standards at least. She hadn't even been middle-aged by the time she'd left. But... Even if she was dead, which was highly unlikely. Rook hadn't sworn the oath to her. He'd sworn it to himself.

And so you'll let all these people walk all over you, because of some silly oath you swore to yourself? No wonder everyone thinks you're pathetic.

Rook let the insult flow over him, and pass by. He wouldn't allow his anger to get the better of him, nor the anger of the Interloper. It was simply trying to provoke him.

Such stubborn restraint. But what good will it do you?

The mist shifted one last time. And out stepped a Lizalfos. Huge an monstrous. Rook's stomach dropped. It wasn't any ordinary monster, either. He recognised it as the same dreadful beast that had attacked him and Komogo in their youth. The very same beast that haunted his nightmares.

Painful spasms wracked his body, and Rook fought hard to restrain himself. This was his mind-scape. And he wouldn't be manipulated within it! This was all an illusion, a very visceral illusion, but an illusion none the less.

But there's another piece to this puzzle, isn't there? Why don't you tell me?

Rook clenched his jaw shut. The creature on its own didn't scare him, it was knowing what it tried to do. And what it represented in his own failure to stop it. He'd longed to see Komogo again, to make sure he was safe and well...

He didn't realise his grave mistake until it was too late to stop it.

The mist swirled one final time. And out stepped Komogo.

You want to keep him safe, don't you? The Interloper tittered.

The monster turned towards Komogo, its scaled, ugly hand gripping the hilt of its sword. It was just like his nightmare. Rook's body finally betrayed him, as tremors began to shake him to the core.

Is that fear I smell? Or could it be... Rage?

As the monster started to move, Rook's chest felt like it was on fire. He hated that beast. He hated it with every inch of its being. He hated it for threatening Komogo. He hated it. He hated it. He hated it.
A torrent of rage slammed against his will like a flood against a dam. Rook fought with every ounce of his willpower, but with each step the Lizalfos took, he felt it starting to crack.

He hated it.

The Interloper roared with laughter. You're not going to let it kill your beloved brother, are you?!

The Lizalfos raised it's blade. Bellowing laughter echoed. The dam broke.

Rook lunged.

His eyes snapped open. He was no longer lost in the void of his own mind, but nor was he sat peacefully in the snow. A sting of discomfort ran up his right arm, and as his senses returned to him, he quickly understood why. His arm was embedded up to the elbow in the boulder he'd struck earlier, though he wasn't sure what was worse. The fact he lost control a second time, or the fact that Eru was glaring at him a few feet away to witness it.

“How's the fire coming along?” Rook hissed through a clenched beak, eager to avoid the inevitable line of questions. The boiling inferno of fury was starting to fade, along with the tittering laughter in the back of his mind.

Sleep tight...

“It's going.” Eru said. “How's the, uh... Whatever you're doing?”

Rook looked back at his half buried arm as if he were seeing it for the first time. “What, this? It's nothing.”

“I don't think the boulder agrees with you-”

“I don't care what the boulder thinks.”

“-Which is why you put your fist through it?”

“No.”

“So your arm just embedded itself into a large boulder, completely of its own accord?”

Rook paused. “Yes.”

Eru stood still for some time, he was probably waiting for a more informative answer. But when it became obvious he wasn't getting one, Eru simply shook his head and turned towards the campsite.

“I won't tell you what to do with your time. But come back soon. Or else Pam's going to try her hand at cooking.” Eru shuddered at the thought as the words came out. “And I'll be honest. I really don't want that to happen.”

Rook waited until Eru had vanished into the alcove before returning to his arm. What if it was all pulverised and broken? It didn't hurt, at least, not enough to suggest a break. But it definitely ached. Though, surely if his arm was that fragile, it wouldn't have gone straight through the rock, right?

He paused for a moment as Eru's words began to sink in. The longer he spent ruminating on if his arm had survived its expedition into the core of a boulder or not, the greater the risk of Pam wasting their dwindling food attempting to cook something. This was far from his only concern, however, as the idea of watching that insipid, pointy-eared buffoon bastardising the culinary art tore his heart in two.

With a deep breath, Rook lurched backwards. He'd expected resistance, however, as he withdrew himself the surrounding rock merely crumbled and gave way. Beyond a dull ache, Rook's arm was mostly uninjured, aside from an annoying layer of chafing, pulverised stone that coated his feathers.

Dusting it off as best as he could, Rook set off towards the alcove. What horrors awaited him he didn't know. What if Pam tried to warm their stale bread over the fire, only to set it on fire? What if, Hylia forbid, she tried to make soup? She had no idea the love and care that would go into such a thing, no thought towards the timings, the balance of ingredients or seasonings. What if she simply hurled all the food they had into Eru's pot, turning what could have been a decent meal into a disgusting, primordial slurry? It was all too much to think about, and in that short moment, the interloping star, the tittering voice and the burning rage were forgotten. This was, by all accounts, a far more pressing issue.

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7 months in the making, and multiple re-writes later. I hope it was worth the wait.