The thundering rush shook in his ears as he drew nearer. Trees parted, the sky returned, and the world disappeared before him - disappeared into the rumbling rush, disappeared into the wrinkled curtain of falling water, disappeared into the crisp, open air. In his hands, he gripped a stack of parchment, the pages frayed and yellowed, but not from age. They sweated under his touch. His touch, which had been so gentle in the dead of night, with nothing but his agonized thoughts to keep him company, was now harsh and unforgiving.
He had penned their contents in a moment of weakness, and that’s all it was: weakness. The ink staining his sickly hands was the blood that flowed from his eye. The words splotched and swiped across the paper’s surface were the ravings of a god gone mad. The ideas so carefully brought to life within the packet’s depths were deranged fantasies. This collection - if it could be called that much - was nothing but pure, concentrated weakness, and none were to lay their grubby little hands on it again.
Not if its author could help it.
As he neared the edge, he closed a tired red eye. The wind, as always, offered a comforting touch against his back. He had lived through much. Too much. This was a necessary step, if he was to continue on: to new adventures, to new experiences, to a new existence - fresh, and bright, and far away from the shithole of his past. He breathed in. He breathed out. He opened a nearly glowing red eye.
He held the packet over the edge.
His nose and eyebrows scrunched, lips curling in a scowl.
“ Umoriut ichiri, rulo .”
Leagues below, a mysterious stack of papers fell into the grasp of a Hylian anthropologist. He had paused his hike upon reaching the break in forestry, and discovering, beyond it, the lagoon, the crystalline waters, the roaring waterfall. What progress could be made in understanding Farore’s people if he passed of dehydration first?
He took in the penmanship with a trained eye - Minish? Who, of this size, would be fluent in Minish? And what, for Hylia’s sake, would they be writing?
Well, he supposed there was only one way to find out.