Waking of Thursday, March 2, 2017 ~ 4
The Voice told me to go to a
certain point shown on the map on my Sheikah Slate.
I saw the place. A great rocky
tumble down in an otherwise.... rather unremarkable expanse of dirt. And there
were bokoblin archers in the way.
Well, I had a bow. I stood on one
little hilltop, and they stood across a little low spot on their own hilltop. I
fired.
My arrow arced pathetically into
the dirt between us.
Ugh, I’d wasted an arrow.... they
were scarce! I wanted to recover it,
but.... well there was nothing for it. I dashed down into the low spot, grabbed
my arrow and ran back to my hill. The bokoblins fired a few times on me but
never hit.
Was my bow just weak? Or did I
actually have to raise my aim for more distant targets?
Dear me this was getting
complicated....
I wasn’t that good an archer, so I
decided to circle wide and come at the rockpile from the left. There was only
one bokoblin in the way there. He had a sword.
After giving the whole lot of them
a very wide berth, I was left with an approach toward this sword-wielding
bokoblin through a plashy little marshland.
I had a club. I had taken it from
another bokoblin earlier. These were the only weapons; you could only find so
much to work with—
I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t
know who I was. All I knew was that I
had to get into those rocks, and that sworded bokoblin was in my way. The sun
shone so bright upon us both, reflecting in the water with my wet boots as I
walked. It felt like the beginning of something huge, something terrible,
something wonderful; it was the beginning of the world . . . .
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