"I'm surprised you're able to even lift a pitchfork," a voice, sticky with sarcasm cut through the silent barn, "And able to remember how to use it."

Malon spun, the shovel clenched in her hands raised like a weapon, but the boy who had spoken was too far away to be worried about a potential attack. He leaned against the door frame, the sun streaming in from behind him cast a shade over his eyes. Malon's initial fear was overtaken by anger at his insult, but her passions always flared and faded, and in a moment her ire was replaced with curiosity. She lowered the pitchfork (her arms were aching anyone) and stared at him with frank puzzlement. He was her age, she judged, though she couldn't clearly see his features. It's been forever since she spoke to anyone normal - the town was almost empty and she couldn't show her face in Kakariko. Malon jammed the pitchfork into the pile of hay and then wiped her hands on her dusty pants. Funny in a strange way that she should meet him in the barn of all places at all times. Usually she was decked in pearls and jewels and preciously metals as thin as spider's silk. She was wearing a servant's outfit and her hair was a long, damp braid and she smelled of horse and worse. But she was too interested to be embarrassed, so she smiled and took a step closer. "Who are you?

The boy slid inside, but then pulled a scarf up to his nose, leaving Malon pouting in unsatisfied curiosity. "I serve your lord," he said, his eyes brilliant red and heavy-lidded with boredom. "Something we share."

Flustered, Malon dropped her gaze brushed her grimy hands over her stained pants. "I haven't seen you before."

He dropped into a bow, low and sweeping. "Compliment graciously accepted."

She knew was turning bright red - a habit she hadn't be able to outgrow. Irritated at her slip in sophistication and at his rudeness, she scowled and crossed her arms across her chest. "Look here, boy," she said, rising to anger at last, "Who are you and what are you doing here?

"Sheik! He chirped, suddenly cheerful and friendly. "Pleasure to meet you! And an honor, too, of course!" He raised his arms high above his hand, stretching like a pleased house cat. "I spy for Ganondorf, so that you've never seen me assures me that I serve him well."

Malon's eyebrows shot up and she blinked, baffled again. "Why are you-"

In one fluid moment, Sheik lunged forward, grabbing her hands in one of his, and yanked the scarf down exposing his face. He was as young as her, and for a dizzy moment she thought of Link, but Sheik's chin and cheekbones were sharper, and his crimson eyes were nothing like Link's soft blue ones. "Listen," he said breathlessly and Malon gaped at him yet again and another one of his mood changes. "Keep doing this. Keep caring for the horses. Keep getting angry. Keep fighting! Be the farm girl, not the princess."

"What are you talking about?" She shook out of his grip and stepped away. "You're crazy! Just what the hell are you doing, anyway? Nevermind - I don't care! Just go away!"

"I'll keep an eye on you, but I can't do much." Sheik said, undisturbed by her outburst. "I'll promise to do whatever is needed of me though, if you do the same."

Malon turned her back to him and grabbed the pitchfork. She flung clean hay furiously into a nearby stall, kicking up clouds and clouds of dust as she worked. When she finally looked over her shoulder, Sheik was gone.