Forest Temple [OOT] [Quill, U5, BP]

"It's called the Potion of Lynel," Marcus said. "And it is magic, just a different kind." Now that the adrenaline was fading, he was beginning to realize just how powerful the magic of the earth was. Just a few seeds could produce effects that powerful... the ancient alchemist hadn't been exaggerating her the magnitude of her art. He felt a burning desire to know; to understand. The seeds in his bag seemed to call to him, to study how they worked and refine their uses. His research into magical seeds had definitely paid off here, giving him the ability to recognize the seeds hanging on the wall and the knowledge of what he could do with them. It had been a strange combination of recalling what he had read and filling in what he couldn't remember with innovation. The results had left him with a kind of thrill, a burning sense of power and achievement he dearly wanted to feel again.

Then, realizing what state Ni'Ran was in, he said, "I wish I could do something for the after-effects, but exhaustion isn't really something I can heal."

"I," Loft said, picking himself up and putting the helmet in his bag, "feel keen. Peachy keen." He rubbed his arms and walked over, looking around. "Feels better here now," he said, "no bad-stuff anymore."

"That's good," Ni'Ran said, smiling, and he turned back to Marcus. "Don't worry about it. I'm made of tougher stuff than the average Rito. Always was." With those words, he hoisted himself to his feet and dedicated himself to pulling his sword out of the ground. As expected, it resisted its master, but the swordsman felt more and more of his strength returning with the second and within a minute, he sheathed his blade. "Well, then... I have some place I have to be. What say you we get out of this place?"

---------

"Shoo," he said, waving his arm emotionlessly. "Shoo." The pigeons that had been pecking the ground near the slab of stone looked up, saw him, and took off in a ruckus of feathers rustling against each other and wings flapping furiously to get away from the bigger, more dominant bird. He stopped in front of the stone, himself, and absently reached forward to pull out a weed that had started to climb up the unmarked slab.

"I failed again," he said to the rock. "I took someone into dangerous territory and dropped my guard. I got someone killed again." He bit back tears as he spoke the words, finally lowering his head. "N-no more," he then muttered to himself. "He was the last one. Hey..." He bent his knees, reaching forward with one hand to touch the earth under his feet, "If you see Harry over there... tell him I'm sorry, okay?"

He dropped the single black rose, getting back to his feet. His brother's gravestone gave no reply, and Amos simply stood there, equally unmoving, until long after the sun had sunk below the horizon.

Excellent! BP, Quill, both of you are certainly entitled to your rewards.