Link slipped quietly into his Night Garb. He had purloined this outfit from the barbarians down in Hunter's Bay when they were asleep atop their piles of treasure. He could always count on guards to fall asleep especially in circumstances when he needed them to be asleep. The Night Garb allowed him to walk without making a sound, and if he made any sound he would be done for in this place. Found out. He could not be found out. What place? Grapbrap's Place. He had finally found it!

He crept silently along the walls of the back entrance. Wisps of conversation drifted to him like thin smoke.

"Haven't heard from her in weeks," a voice muttered despondently, sodden with the forlorn flavors of Hylian Ale. 

"There's a war on," another voice replied pointedly, long-suffering and patient, a voice clearly used to uttering these words. "Post is bound to be delayed or downright canceled in this situation."

"But something should have come through by now. It's been weeks. Weeks! It's been WEEKS of time. That's how long it's been. A week's worth of weeks!"

"Look bud, let's take your mind off that. You see the Goron Bowling Match yesterday?"

"Sports are terrible," came the petulant reply. There was a pause followed by a longer pause.

Link quietly drew his long thin knife in the thick darkness and prepared for a slaughter. Tonight he would be drinking his enemy's blood. Not literally because he couldn't imagine drinking blood for any reason but the figure of speech had lodged itself in his pliable mind as a youngster and now he could not but think of anything in those metaphorical terms. It bothered him that he had the same thoughts repeatedly like that and he didn't know how to break the cycle. He had been meditating lately. He didn't know if that helped. It probably did. The Sheikah Sages all wrote about meditation and encouraged young Hylian acolytes to take up the practice. For what purpose? He didn't know, but he suspected that was part of the journey.