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Explaining the fall of Ganondorf to unageing forest spirits that had never met the man was proving to be a fruitless endeavor for the Deku Tree Sprout. The Kokiri never cared much about politics, cross-cultural communication, or events so monumental that the bards of the future would sing about the present. If something wasn’t physically in the forest, the Kokiri couldn’t have cared less about it. As far as they were concerned, the sky was an odd color for a bit, and the ground briefly shook, and then the monsters disappeared from the forest. Talk of a tower being reduced to rubble, or of a giant boar, was lost on them.
The announcement that they could now leave the forest was not.
Mido gasped, then immediately slapped a hand over his mouth to keep the rest of his shock from showing. Leave the forest? It was all he’d ever known. All they’d ever known. Besides, he didn’t know what was out there for certain—none of them did—but that never stopped the rumors. What if the worst of the speculation was possible?
“It’ll be nice to pick new flowers!” chimed Fado, excitement in her eyes. “I wonder if they’re the same colors as the ones we have here?”
“Bet you I can pick them first!” Mido interrupted on instinct. He wasn’t scared. He couldn’t be. He had to show them he wasn’t. Had to show them he was the best Kokiri of them all. Scrambling to the forest entrance, across the rope bridge, he made it to the border with a race of Kokiri behind him. He planted his feet into the soil as they skidded to a stop behind him, many colliding into either each other or him.
Mido ran his mouth faster than the rest of them had run their feet, and now he’d made himself the test subject. He took a deep breath as his toes crept along the edge of the hollowed-out log that served as the forest’s entrance. The rest of the Kokiri crowded around him and stood on their own toes to look over his shoulder, to watch Kokiri history be made.
The forest chittered as they all took a silent, bated breath. One of Mido’s favorite stories to tell around a fire was how the land outside the forest was so corrosive that it would sap all the energy from a poor Kokiri on contact. Of course, he knew he was making it up to get a rise out of the others, as all stories of the outside world were, but he couldn’t help but gulp as he raised his foot, hovering it over the fresh grass beyond the log. Leaves swayed in the gentle breeze, and a thick of ferns and flowers littered the ground. The outside world didn’t look that different—so far.
He put his foot down, crunching a leaf under his toes. He did not keel over, disappear into a puff of smoke, or spontaneously burst into flames, as some of the tales went.
No.
The Deku Tree Sprout was telling the truth. He was perfectly fine. And he was further than he had ever ventured before. Taking another step, he had the same thought again.
“I did it!” Mido said, unable to stop himself. He turned to look over his shoulder at all of the Kokiri behind him, slack-jawed and hard-packed into the entrance, caught between their desire to see him and their fear of joining him. “I mean, of course I did it,” he corrected with a flippant wave of his hand. “I’m Mido, I can do anything! Wasn’t like it was hard anyways.” He put his hands in his pockets and started the trek down the path ahead, making up a tune to whistle as he went to distract himself from how loud his heartbeat was in his ears and how he had to clench his fists to keep them from shaking. He wasn't scared though. He was never scared. Judging by the chatter behind him, the rest were starting to follow.
And then the trees cleared, and Mido was looking out on the vast expanse of Hyrule Field for the first time. Without a canopy of leaves blotting it out, dusk painted what he’d eventually come to learn as the horizon shades of summertime bonfire orange and red. And he could see for the entire length of many, many forests. Rock structures broke the horizon; structures he’d be told were Hyrule Castle and Death Mountain—but they still looked like rocks to him. Fences broke up Hyrule Field, where he’d later visit Lon Lon Ranch. In all his time in the forest, he could never have imagined a place without a thick grove of trees, but here it was before his very eyes.
Nor could he have imagined other colors of fire. Contained in a ring, fires of all colors of the rainbow adorned the center of the great field, silhouettes milling about in front of and around the blazes. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a Hylian before—an unfortunate few had turned to Stalfos in the Lost Woods, and he supposed Link counted as a Hylian too—but it was the first time he’d seen so many of them in one place. They scattered themselves about, mingling with one another, bumbling like bees.
“Just gonna stand there,” started Fado as she elbowed him in the side. “Or are you gonna go join them?” She took off with a wink toward the commotion.
“Hey!” Mido called after her, sprinting to catch up. “Of course I’m going!”
He never made it to her. It couldn’t have been because she was faster. No. Mido had to be the fastest. It had to be because he was distracted by all the new and wondrous things and people all lumped together.
Adult Hylians unnerved him; he always forgot how tall they were until he saw them up close again. That was until he saw a Goron for the first time. They looked like moving rocks, and when he stumbled into one because he saw a Zora for the first time too, he found they actually were giant, living rocks. Then one of them ate a rock, and he decided to give them a wide berth after that. Not because he was scared. Of course not. He was just being cautious. Mido wasn’t scared of anything.
The Kokiri grouped together, awkwardly huddling around each other. They kept to themselves, sending nervous glances around at all the big folk like they’d be trampled if they weren’t careful. They chattered, but they didn’t mingle like the other kinds of people seemed to. The Zora, Gorons, and Hylians all milled about as they pleased, chatting with one another like seeing members of another species was a common occurrence.
Was that what life was like outside the forest? Mido had been too preoccupied with making up scary stories about life on the outside that he never thought to consider anything pleasant. And pleasant it was. The many fires crackled and snapped, comfortably warm, and sent the sweet hickory smoke trailing up toward the clear stars. The gentle breeze carried the scents of cut grasses and wildflowers that Fado would be sure to pick once she’d ventured out past where her feet were still rooted down.
Cut grass. Had Link been here? Unfortunately, it wasn’t like Mido could ask him. Not that second anyways; there wasn’t a tall Hylian in Kokiri green that suspiciously resembled the Link he remembered. Not yet, at least. If he kept his eye out, he might spot him. He’d have to be vigilant though, there were more people together here than he’d ever seen before, and it was impossible to keep track of them all. But what was the harm in checking if Link was here? Besides, he wanted to apologize for not recognizing him the time he came back to the Forest Temple. Mumbling something about checking out the surroundings, he broke from the Kokiri huddle to aimlessly float around like a bumblebee while he outright gawked at everything by himself.
The big folk were even odder up close. A cluster of Zora caught his attention, and while he didn’t understand most of what they chattered about–something about a Domain and a giant fish–he was completely mesmerized by their scales. Sleek and smooth, they held a slight iridescence to them that caught the colors of the fires like sunlight through dragonfly wings. The Gerudo laughed among themselves in a language he didn’t understand, but luckily for him, joy seemed to be universal. There wasn’t ever much metal in the forest, mostly just the Kokiri sword and a few odds and ends strewn about, but those women must’ve had so much of it to spare that they found a use for the excess by decorating each other in jewelry. Bands of gold and silver wrapped around their limbs in every possible configuration, and even stuck to some of their ears and noses. It glittered in the firelight too.
“Hey, man,” said someone behind him. Man. Right, that was what an adult male Hylian was called. “You, uh, little guy!”
What kind of man was a little folk? If that was a rumor, the only correct answer would be Link, but Mido hadn’t seen him here yet. Nevertheless, Mido turned, more curious than anything.
Behind him was a Goron. That wasn’t surprising in and of itself; there were plenty milling about, but none of them were facing him like this one was. His knees were bent to not completely tower over him. “Oh, sorry!” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you!”
“What?” Mido said, blowing off the remark with a wave of his hand. “Me? Scared? I’m not scared of anything!”
That thankfully got a smile out of the Goron. Of course, Mido couldn’t be scared, but after seeing another Goron eat a rock, it felt relieving to be on the good side of a potentially cannibalistic species. “I wanted to ask you guys something, but none of you seemed to want to talk.”
“Oh, them?” he said, pointing over his shoulder at the Kokiri huddle. “Yeah, they’re all a bunch of whimps. They’re lucky they’ve got me around.”
The Goron chuckled. “Looks like I’m lucky you’re here then! Are you guys from the forest?”
Friendly or not, all the tales of how Kokiri shouldn’t trust outsiders in the forest came to the front of his mind. He knew he wasn’t home anymore, but he didn’t know if the principle still stood. “What gives you that impression?” he said, not wanting to give anything away that he didn’t have to.
“You’re all wearing green.”
Oh. Now that he mentioned it, the Kokiri definitely stuck out as odd amongst the collective. No other group was bundled together by a monochromatic force.
“And I met someone dressed like you bunch once. Odd fellow. I liked him though.”
“Link?” Mido mused as soon as the thought entered his mind. He was the only one to leave the forest and live. Before now, at least.
The Goron smiled again–all of them seemed overly cheery to him–and extended a hand, seemingly to shake, but if they shook hands, he’d most definitely shake all of Mido as well. Not sure what to do, Mido gave him a high five. His palm was rough-hewn and gigantic. “That’s me!” said the Goron, his grin wide as a boulder.
Mido stared in horror. This was what became of Link? Was going from Kokiri to Hylian so unfulfilling that he had to become a Goron next? He hoped it wasn’t painful, being transformed into a hulking, sentient rock like that. The Goron arm to leg ratio was so skewed, he didn’t even want to think of what it would be like to adopt. And what happened to his ears? Goron’s didn’t look like they had any, externally at least. Link at least seemed like he heard him. Did Link have any say in the transformation, or did this happen to him against his will?
Link lost his smile, more confused than horrified. But then he stifled a laugh and said, “Wait, did you confuse me for the fairy brother?”
And Mido could breathe again. It was a different Link, unrelated to his own. For all Mido knew, lots of people out here could be named Link. There weren’t enough Kokiri to have to worry about repeating names, but this many people might start to have that problem. “You know him?” he asked. It never occurred to him that Link would befriend other people after he ventured out of the forest, but now that he’d ventured out too, it made sense.
“Wish I knew him better, but I got to meet him once. My dad really liked him though, so much so that he named me after ‘im.” The Gorons honored Link. He was loved. “Dad told me something about him fixing something about the rocks we like to eat, but I got to know him as the guy that freed us from Volvagia.”
Mido stared blankly, only understanding half the words out of his mouth.
“He slayed a dragon so it wouldn’t eat us,” he clarified.
Mido really should’ve listened to the Great Deku Tree’s stories better; if he had, maybe he’d be able to remember what a dragon was.
“He killed a giant flaming snake so we all wouldn’t die,” he rephrased again.
“A giant snake?!” Mido said with a gasp. It made sense once he thought about it, Link was the one to defeat Ghoma after all.
“Yeah, actually, most people here have a story about the guy. He really travelled all over, killed a bunch of big monsters.” The Goron’s smile was wistful before it turned sheepish. “But I had one more thing to ask you, if it's alright of course.”
“Sure.” Anything for a friend of Link’s.
“It’s about my dad.” He fidgeted with his hands like he’d find the right words to say written on his fingers. “He really liked this one specific song from the forest, I wanted to know if you knew it.”
Saria’s song. This Goron was asking about Saria. He had to be; that was the only song Mido heard nearly every day before she was called to become a sage. He missed it. Though he wouldn’t admit it to just anyone, he missed her too.
“I was never good at playing it,” he said. “That song was,” he said, his voice trailing off. “Someone else’s.” Saria hadn’t left the forest before him too, had she? At least, not before she was a sage. How else would her song have made it to wherever the Gorons lived?
“But you know it?” He leaned forward eagerly, fully enraptured by the Kokiri multiple times smaller than him. “Please, I don’t care if it’s perfect or anything, but I’d really like to hear that song again. I just want to feel close to my dad again.”
Mido wasn’t too used to the idea of loss and the change that came with it; being an unaging forest spirit never gave him many chances to come to terms with what either of them meant. Lost was a word for a misplaced trinket that would turn up again an hour later, and change was for the rest of the outside world. But then the Great Deku Tree passed, Link left the forest and would never be the same again, and Saria was gone forever.
Mido didn’t know much about this particular Goron–other than his familiar name at least–but he could understand a little bit of the loss now. This Link wanted to hear the song to reconnect with someone he missed. Maybe, just maybe, if he played it just right, Mido could feel a little closer to Saria in turn.
He picked a blade of grass. On inspection, it didn’t look that different from the forest grass he knew, perhaps a bit taller than he was used to, but it would still work. It fit nicely between his thumbs as he pressed it to his lips. The first note was shaky, apprehensive. Weary. The second found its hold on the air, piercing and shrill like the note itself was begging to be heard. A few Hylians covered their ears, so he readjusted the grass blade and tried again.
The third note soared to the stars, rich and full as if it carried their very memories itself up to the heavens. He was lucky it was such a simple song; once he’d gotten the hang of the grass whistle, it wasn’t a difficult tune at all. Now that he was playing it for himself, he understood why Saria enjoyed it as much as she did. It really was a fun melody; light, comforting, carefree, and jovial, and everything else she’d been all wrapped up into a single tune.
And the Goron couldn’t help but dance. It was alarming at first, watching a small boulder move as quickly as he did. He used up the entire radius available to him to swing his arms about, but once Mido realized he was safely out of range, he found it rather charming. Other people must have too, because if they weren’t already dancing along too, they’d at least turn to see what all the commotion was about. A Goron hopping to the beat shook the ground quite a bit.
The rest of the Kokiri wormed their way through the crowd, smiles on all of their faces to hear the familiar song again. They danced along too, for the first time in ages not having to worry about monsters outside as they played.
A woman in a cream dress sang along, her harmony adding a new, exciting layer to the song. It was fitting. The song wouldn’t ever be the same without Saria, but it could become something new.
Together.
With everyone.
Somehow, he knew that was what Saria would’ve wanted.
Little did he know that’s exactly why she was smiling. And though Mido had never met him, Darunia was too.