Link’s eyes subtly narrowed. It’s not a squint, but he is taking Octavo mud more seriously now. “Right…but it has never been yours. There needs to be some level of understanding among everyone.”

“"Few deaths"?” He shakes his head. “More importantly…I get keeping it from evil, but hasn’t it gone already? There’s no reason to *not* return it now. Or at least have some agreement.”

“Well…there’s really only one way to find out.”

“Why? I don’t want an unfair battle.”

“I don’t pick fights I can’t win, and I want to keep the peace.”

“Just give me some time to rest and we’ll have a fair fight.”

Link very visibly winces with grit teeth and his hand trembles. “G-g-great…! C-can’t wait…!!”

“…Soon.”

“You’re next.”

“Next thing is we’re going to bring back whether my hair is pink or not.”

+ way of going about it, but I cannot say you let ruin run its course so…I respect it. But…” Link scratches just at his cap’s brim. “…I dunno. I think that was a wise choice—in the grand scheme of things.”

Link listens, though initially nodding already well aware of the initial explanation. But where it deviates, to Octavo’s own tale, he genuinely listens. There’s brief moment he almost speaks the very moment the bard finishes his words, but he steels himself, mulling over the choice. “That was one +

A hand out for a shake. “Sounds like a plan then.”

The hero nods, grinning. “I appreciate it. Maybe one day we’ll be fighting together then?”

“I’m sure you’ve got more than that in ya. Granted I’d rather not fight to the death.”