Zelda

• Jordan Sims, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2013

Zelda had her sword tucked firmly under her weapon belt and, after slicing off her hair that previous night, she was ready for battle. With her pants crammed into her leather boots, the muddy ground squelching at every step, she clenched her fists as her muscles cried out. They were frozen.
It was pouring icy rain that hurt her head as it pelted down on top of her. As she looked up she couldn’t see the moon and for a brief moment, she thought she might have forgotten what it looked like. The sky was empty and dark, just how Zelda loved it, and as she gripped a tree to take a sip of water from her bottle, an owl hooted in the branches above. A biting wind blew across her cheek, sending shivers down her spine, and the old, brown leaves floated around her feet.
Deeper into the wood, in a safe place, she met the eyes of a small animal—the bright green points of light making her flinch away from where she was headed—and the screech of a bat echoed through the cave she found herself crouching in. After abandoning her fire, she stepped out from the warm cavern and trudged further in the direction of her destination.
The sounds of nightlife kept her awake and always alert, prepared for the worst. She’d been told endlessly of the forest and its dangers—especially the ones of the evil spirits which took the form of whatever appeared to whoever was brave enough to trek through the forest. Of course, Zelda was afraid of no such things. She didn’t fancy the concept of making your fears known because if everyone knew, how could she ever be safe?
As her handmade boots crunched further into the night, her rigid haircut protruded in wild directions, and, despite the cold, the moon guided her through the night. Locating the stars she knew best and picking her direction from there on, more painfully tiring steps were taken as she trudged further into the depths of the forest.
This was who Zelda was proud to be. She was an explorer at heart, always feeling the pulse of nature alive within her, almost as if it kept her working during the toughest of times. As a child, she’d always had the ability to speak with animals in some unknown, silent fashion and she didn’t obsess over inessential theatrics with the other town girls.
She was destined to be alone and a fighter—walking in the steps of her late father and believing in anything that ever meant something to Zelda. Strong and utterly faithful to both herself and the environment surrounding her, she didn’t belong to the human race. She belonged more to the leaves of the trees, the fur of the squirrels, even the petals of spring’s dearest flower—the hot pink, musky scented rose.
Sucking in one last chilly breath, she continued her journey to the heart of nature, where she belonged.