Link looked down into the ravine and swallowed. There at the bottom was the enemy camp. From his vantage point he perceived seven, maybe eight ironclad Figatrops. EIGHT! One was enough. Two was a nightmare. Three was insanity. Four was fucking impossible. Five was a god damn piece of fuck deathwish. Six was mental illness and delusions of happiness when your life was actually a sad lonely husk of what you imagined it would be as a youngster. Seven was the woman you loved and adored unconditionally just walking out on you and telling you she was done, simply done, no explanation, she had a good time and it was fun while it lasted but it was over now and it was time to move on, you needed to accept that and she didn't want to hurt you but she was getting weird vibes and it was making her uncomfortable, it didn't feel organic, it was quietly forceful and she didn't like it, you were suggesting it was getting too serious and you were getting obsessive and letting fantasies get in the way of real life and she was feeling restricted and controlled and it was always destined to end so just accept it, you'll meet someone else don't worry, you're a great dude. Eight was the number 8.

He checked his sword to make sure it was still there. Its comfortable weight pressed down into his upper back. He needed to get through this ravine. It was the only way to the Island of Retrievals. How could he make his way past eight Figatrops without dying? He sat down on the ground and considered his options. He could turn back. That was always an option so that is what he did. He scrambled quietly away from the ravine and back to the relative safety of the meadows. A butterfly fluttered in front of him and he laughed.

"Got a job for ya, laddie," a man to his right said.

Link jumped. He thought he was alone out here in the meadowland but apparently he was not. Perhaps ten yards away sat a man clothed in hoods and robes. A lantern hung from a small stand next to him. A pony was grazing contentment nearby. It was all very surreal.

"And what kind of job is that?" said Link, full of suspicion and tensing, waiting for anything.

"A cool mark watters job."