A young blonde Hylian was making his way through the mountains of Hebra in which you resided. You usually didn’t get visitors around these parts, which made this even more odd. You watched him struggle through the snow, occasionally slipping and falling on his face, before he lost his footing and rolled all the way down to the foot of the hill with a muffled thump. His tunic was torn and bloody.

When he looked up, he saw you standing in the doorway of your home, looking skeptical. Light. Warmth. Food. That's all he could process at the moment. So he weakly lifted a red-knuckled hand, and with trembling fingers, pointed at you and your home. Hurt. Help. Please. He signs shakily. Promise. No hurt you.