Author's notes: Marked PG-13 for mature content, adult themes, mild profanity, violence, blood and gore. Marked as tragedy to reflect guiding theme.
This is my first finished fan fiction (once tried an epic Yoshi saga lol). I began this with the thought that a very cool and even honorable looking monster in the Zeldaverse was taken for granted. I wanted more meaning for my favorite foe, the darknut. I hope you enjoy.

"Pride of the Darknut"

All over the Forsaken Fortress lay a deathly silence. From the highest tower General Grift looked down upon the dark ramparts. This night, there was no moon, no stars, no light save the red glow of the Moblin's lanterns as they patrolled the parapets, and these gave no cheer. It was a dark night that suited the General's dark thoughts.
About him lay all the volumes of lore in his possession. It was uncharacteristic of servants to the Evil One, to be educated in the long lost histories. Yet, Grift was no ordinary beast. He was a Darknut, the highest of all such beasts. He might have been described as noble, yet such words are not fit for beings often called "monsters". Apart from others of his own kind, Grift was coated in short, coarse, grey fur that told of his age. Yet he was massive, even for a Darknut, and easily the better of any other two creatures in this fortress.
Tonight he pondered, as he had for every night for years past. He held the charge of this fortress, this bastion in the northern seas, he was responsible for keeping it safe. His father and all his father's fathers had done the same, for twenty generations. In time, it passed to him, and in time, it would go to his son, and so on for twenty generations more. Until the Evil One came again, he and his kin would keep watch, waiting patiently for the dark times to come again.
Many of his kind were content with this existence. Their allegiance lay solely in the Master's hands, indeed their lives belonged to Him. So few knew the truth, and those that did dare not reveal it for fear and loyalty to Him. If only they did, but alas, such dire thought should never even enter Grift's mind. Yet they did, and often, and becoming less rare with each passing night.
Abruptly the general left his perch on the window. He turned about to survey his cabin (it was indeed a cabin, a captain's quarters that had been stranded atop this rock many centuries ago) and found it like always: a place of gloom and foreboding. Musty books and molded papers lay stacked neatly around the room, a bed whose sturdiness belied its age and appearance was tucked beside the wall, and a single desk with a single lamp filled the center of the room. Grift walked over to it, his every step making a thud that broke the silence like a canon blast. An arm chair awaited. Once comfortable, he opened a book, one of such years that only magic could have kept it from rotting. Then he began reading, the same story that so entranced his mind and will for so many years.

We, the proud race of warriors, the Darknut Knights, have fallen. It has been seventeen seasons since the black hordes fell upon our mountain kingdoms. They came in every shape and size, in every vile form imaginable. They ravaged the lower vales for two seasons, their advance only slowed by their own greed for destruction and plunder. My father, King Aegriss, fell at the Battle of Krase, with many of our bravest knights. At the Stonehead Pass we held them off for long, their being a narrow ravine and perilous bridges, and a mighty gate barring passage on the near end. No amount of siege or machinery could have cracked that defense. However, the King of Shadows, who has since been known as Ganondorf, came forth. He called forth two demons of the netherworld, one a lizard grown to gargantuan size and given wings of flight, the other an insect of like proportions and armor of iron. "Aquamentus!" and "Gohma" the enemy chant, with glee in their faces. We name these creatures as such now. They tore down the gate, and the walls, and every stone down to the foundation. Many more brothers died there, my own included.
I then became King, though this war has robbed that title of its glory. I was there to witness the slow march across the mountains, as one by one our citadels fell. At last they came upon the Crag, the very heart of our kingdom. Three seasons they spent assaulting us, ten score times and more we have driven them from our walls. Yet the monsters are endless. We could not hold them back forever, yet we thought we could hold on a good while yet. But for the Traitor, we might have lasted until emissaries of other lands arrived with aid. As bitter as receiving help would have been, defeat is far worse. Yet worse still did we receive.
I had in my service a certain Darknut, by name of Rebark. His family had fallen in the first years of the war, and he seemed very eager to avenge their deaths. His mind was sharp, so that he always seemed to know where the enemy would attack, and all our forces could concentrate there and prepare that portion for the assault. Nigh, twenty days ago he personally beat back an attack by Aquamentus, and the reptile fled back to his lair sans an eye and three claws. Yet, I see the truth in his "genius" now.
Rebark was very senior in my council, and he sent for me. The message sounded urgent, and so I responded. We met upon the highest rampart, with all the foe before us.
"Rebark," I addressed him, "it has been many days of toil, and battle, and fear that we have lived through." Now I looked to him, eye to eye. "Do you see an end to this conflict?" And for a moment, he would not face me directly, but after a pause, he turned, and I saw into his eyes, and beheld his heart. It had become evil, corrupted, greed and hate I saw, and in an instant I knew his answer.
"Yes, it will end very soon now, " he said slowly, and knowing that something was falling, but not what, and not seeming to be able to move, my blood ran cold. A shadow fell over us, cold, like a corpse after long hours in the snow. An evil laugh sounded, and turning, saw that it came from Ganondorf, standing upon my rampart.
"Your kingdom has ended! Now the race of Darknuts shall fall!" I could not bring myself to speak, not even whisper. Yet it was not fear that kept me silenced now.
"Oh, I see it! I see your hatred, it glows in your eyes." The Evil One's voice lowered. "Perhaps I shall spare you...Yes, fetch your sword, take your wrath out upon me!" Before realizing it, I had my blade drawn. A mighty weapon, one handed down since the founding of our kingdom, it glowed red as to reflect my spirit. I charged, and unknowingly, obeyed my first command, as the servant of Ganondorf.
We clashed in an epic battle, he using all his sorceries and wielding his sabers as an expert, but none could defeat my anger and blind fury. Yet, even as I drove him to the edge, he laughed. Upon reaching the brink, I made to cleave him in two with a mighty stroke, or else cast him off into his minions a league below. Quicker than any eye could follow, he grasped my arm and flung it aside. With a sweep he made a slash of his own. With a crash it broke through my sword, blasting it into dust. As the thunder rolled on he grappled my neck and held me over the void.
"A good fight, my King, but no power can stay mine! I give you a chance. Obey me or be die!" At that moment I was humbled. He had defeated me, and now I believe this was his purpose in the battle all along. Rebark was to gain my trust, then he could fight me in single combat, and throw me down, and utterly shatter my warriors pride. Upon that hour I consented to servitude, and never will my race regain its honor.
I ordered our gates opened, and the flood of foes pressed in and murdered any who did not surrender. We were made to swear allegiance to Ganondorf, for then and for always, as long as time shall endure. I suppose that the death of King of Shadows might free us, but in my dealings with him, I have suspected otherwise. His is a spirit of immortality, one that will reincarnate no matter how many times his person is killed. I fear, no longer for us, for we are now hopeless, but for our innocent victims, and the victims of our descendants. Evil has gained a powerful soldier in us.
Griss, The Once-King of Darknuts

General Grift closed his book. He knew every word by heart, but reading the passage reinforced its message. The conflict that ensued embroiled his mind, and he wondered if it would ever go away.
For many, good and evil, the concept was difficult to understand. The Darknuts were a warrior race, sworn to the sword. There were several interpretations, but all had once concept in common: absolute devotion. For a Darknut, this means bravery in battle, humility in defeat, and absolute loyalty. They naturally strove to obey a master. To them, any with power became the master. For long they had never encountered someone stronger, so the race ruled itself. Upon being defeated by Ganondorf, they submitted to his power, both in shame at their loss and awe and fear of his strength. Since, a cult of servitude, obedience until death, death in vain battle even, has grown within the Darknuts.
Grift was sensing the influence of Ganondorf's corruption. Some knights were even enjoying, sometimes relishing the task of conquering and destroying the innocent. How much longer until the entire race was completely tainted?
He was witnessing the slow decline of his race. No more proud warriors, but slinking commanders who increasingly lead from the back of battle. Those who did ran the risk of falling to one of the rare, but brave, heroes that inevitably appeared. Sometimes Grift envied those comrades who fell in battle. To him, it seemed an honorable way of escaping servitude.
Here in his own command, he was often confronted by the jeers and sniggering of his own troops, especially from the black-hearted Moblins. Without the strict code set by the Master, he would have hanged every last one of them long ago. They were most corrupted of Ganondorf's servants. To their own comrades they were dangers, and all had the fear of being backstabbed by one, or carelessly flatted by their long pikes in battle. Even now, his mate was in labor, with his most loyal Darknut knight's guarding the door, less the Moblins break in and prey upon the defenseless females.
The more he thought about it, the more he had begun to reconsider his role; and the more he began to question that oath of servitude.
Grift drifted into slumber with these thoughts. A sudden crash far below woke him. He leapt to the window, expecting, and finding, the worst.
The main door had been thrown wide open. Several Moblins marched out. Between them they carried two bloodied carcasses. Grift recognized them as the nurses to his mate. Panic filled his mind, but he did not act just yet. As he watched, his guards burst out, yelling, followed by the target, another Darknut. Grift recognized him as Rabark, named after the long dead traitor. He had found that amusing at first, but now it seemed frighteningly apt. This soldier was popular among the other monsters of the fortress. He habitually questioned orders and occasionally ridiculed the restraint and manners Grift insisted his knights keep.
Rabark yelled back against the troops.
"How dare ye defy me! A traitor has entered the fortress! No action, however important, supersedes the hunt for this spy!"
"General Grift will have your head! The nurses are dead, and you have nearly killed his mate!"
"Those nurses were aiding the spy! I wonder if she weren't using her labor as an excuse to hide them!" Rabark marched back inside. Grift's men attempted to follow, but the Moblins lowered their spears, and they were outnumbered three to seven. The rebel officer came back out, dragging Gyrin out. At the sight of his companion, tortured by her labor and now abused by this bastard, the general went ballistic.
"See now! I know she is an accomplice here! I will make her talk, if it ta..." he never finished. Though it was fifty feet below, Grift hurtled himself out the window and landed just behind Rabark. With a single hammer blow he laid the adversary cold. The Moblins moved in, but hesitated at seeing the wrathful Darknut.
"Throw them all prison! Knights! Knights! Wake now!"
Within minutes the entire fortress was roused. The general handpicked his loyal men and had them confine every beast to their barracks. The Forsaken Fortress, for the first time since the Hero of Winds infiltrated it, went into lockdown. He himself attended to Gyrin. The child was still a few hours away from delivery, so Grift had the rest of the female Darknuts sent to his cabin. Next he sat down with the commanders to hear the exact story.
"Officer, tell me exactly what happened." The knight was trembling. At first Grift thought of it as fear, but then he became aware of the gashes all along the knight's side. Another was ordered to fetch bandages. Once applied, along with a poultice, the Darknut steadied down enough to begin speaking.
"We heard noises inside sir. Your mate was having a hard time, and the cries distracted us for a moment. Rabark and his gang came out of nowhere, demanding entrance. I told him no one is allowed into the chamber. He insisted, and then ordered me out." Here he bowed his head. "For a moment I forgot upon whose orders I was guarding the chamber, and considered if Rabark might have that authority. He did not wait, but threw me aside and entered. 'Where is the spy?!' he demanded, and the females were quite scared. I dashed to protect them, but a Moblin caught me on the side. As I struggled with him, the others rushed past. 'There is no place to hide wretches!' were the last words I remember, then a fight broke out, in which the nurses were mauled, and maybe a Moblin and one of our comrades were killed. Then they dragged everyone out, with us three trying to regain control. I think Rabark was dragging them out to the courtyard so as to rouse the fortress. I am ashamed to have not acted more."
"Your trial can wait. I must go and judge the bastard rebels first." Grift left them there and headed towards the prison. The seven Moblins were crowded in the bottom cell, while Rabark was imprisoned in the upper levels. He was awake when Grift arrived. The traitor sat upon the crude table, staring forward at nothing in particular.
"Officer, attention!" Rabark showed no signs of hearing the order. Grift paced the cell, each moment his anger building, a volcano of rage awaiting eruption.
"You have one chance to answer me before your carcass feeds the Gyorg! Stand at attention!" Nothing happened, for a moment. Then ever so slowly, Rabark stood bolt upright. He slowly brought his hand up to his head, as if to salute. Just shy of the eyebrow, two fingers came to the lips. A shrill, piercing whistle followed. Then all hell broke loose outside. Grift did not care.
Outside, doors burst open, weakened hours earlier by stealth and craft. Moblins flooded onto the ramparts, along with the other foul beasts of the fortress: Bokoblins, Miniblins, and a few Wolfos. The Darknut guards were taken by surprise, in minutes they were subdued. In the barracks, were most of the Darknut warriors were waiting orders, the door was slammed shut and locked. Soon an acrid smell filled the room, raising fears of the already volatile knights. One Lieutenant tried to turn the tables into a battering ram, but found nobody had the strength. The others felt drowsy, couldn't see well. It was not until the curtains turned ablaze was the fire noticed, sending in columns of suffocating smoke. Outside, the Bokoblins grinned at their nefarious deed. Screams rang out through the night, of battle, of death in all its gory manifestations.
Only in two places did the guard hold out. The Cabin was safe, distant from the first skirmishes, guarded by nine strong and alert Darknuts, though the narrow walkway leading up was fiercely contested. In the Prison quarters the battle was hotter. The Moblins stormed upon the few knights left to guard the prisoners, desperately trying to free their leader.
The officer Grift had berated earlier fought wildly. There were so many of the dirty pigs, packing the corridors and eager to get their chance at bloody revolt. He had lost his sword in the initial fray, and was having to fend off creatures with his bare fists. He knocked one beast out, grabbing the brute's spear as it crumpled to the ground. With a moment's breath, he slammed it into a nearby barrel. One of his men cried, the officer swiveled and brought his makeshift mace down hard, cracking an assailant's skull. He gave a stroke, left, right, left again, and center, killing three more opponents in the process. Yet, as he did so, his last comrade was impaled by spears.
General Grift heeded not the sound of battle. Upon Rabark's defiance he had thrust his arms through the bars, grabbing the traitor by the neck and lifting him up high. "Bastard of bastards! What have you done?" Rabark answered by shooting his feet through the bars and into Grift's chest. The two hurled away from the gate.
"You're pathetic, General," Rabark said, rubbing his neck. "A decadent fool, living in the far off past. Do you really think Ganondorf is dead? Or do you not care? There's a new order coming, some day, and pure-hearts like yours will be dust in the wind when its storm breaks loose." The General was on all fours, trying to recover from the blow.
"You, won't.. hack! get... away..." His voice was labored. His fury had exhausted him. Rabark enjoyed it, smiling and cocking his head. Finally Grift stopped gasping, his body trembling all over now. He raised his head. "You'll never see that day, ye damned one." From deep inside, the rage had built, and now would not be denied escape.
"DIE!!!" He hurled himself against the bars, smashing them and cannoning into Rabark. The other was thrown onto his back. They wrestled, throwing each other across the room and slamming into the walls. Griff was stronger, and more experienced, and his wrath gave him energy without end. Yet, Rebark was younger and craftier, and dodged as much as possible. He pranced about, straining to listen for something.
"Ah, there they are! General, I think your title shall be short-lived!" Rebark pranced aside as the infuriated warrior charged. Griff smashed into the stone wall, but it was the wall that gave way, not the warrior. Mortar flew about, unbalancing Rebark. He leapt away, hoping the general had been knocked out by the collision. The dust settled, and a pair of red flames illuminated the void.
"Griff, how long can you manage this? What drives you so desperately?"
"How can you understand." It was a whisper, barely audible, feeling choked. The flames vanished, but a body emerged. It was not the raging beast of a moment before, nor even that of the brooding commander Griff had known. This was wracked scars, blood flowing like streams into a pool of crimson. It heaved, and trembled. And when Rebark could finally focus on his opponents face, he saw it cried, blood and water mixed in agony.
"How... can you know what love is? You who never loved anyone but yourself. How can you know what hate is, until you have had someone take your very soul and defile it? What would you know of honor, ye honorless?!"
Rebark was silenced. In his confusion, his sudden struggle to understand his foe, he had been bewildered. And when he did so, he sensed something, somewhere, from the deep past. A longing, it seemed.
"A warrior's courage. A warrior's honor," he whispered to himself. Is this what Griff was talking about? Was this, this urgency to fight, to win for something higher than oneself, this something that he could only grasp at, was this what the General knew and embodied?
"Rebark, what say you?"
Silence. A pause. Nothing. The din of far of battle drawing nearer, but it seemed nothing could break this solemn discourse.
"Humph." Rebark chuckled, once. "That is a very seductive ideal, comrade. Who knew, such rubbish could be made so beautiful?" He met the general's gaze, eye to eye. "They are figments of the mind, to help serve the weak. I understand it now. Where the weak fail to gain power, they compensate with petty concepts as 'love' and 'duty' to give themselves purpose. Griff, I shall kill you, but before I do, I shall rid you of these child's follies!"
The door to the room filled with moblins. The foremost hurled his burden inside, that of the blade-strewn corpse of the lieutenant. They had had there taste of carnage, and wanted more.
"I want this one alive if possible. If he is too much, kill him." They grimaced, eagerness and wickedness filling mind and soul and eyes.
They would not have their chance.
An earth-shattering roar cowed them to their knees. A monster, unstoppable, crashed through them as if dolls. Side to side, leaping, pounding, throttling, bashing, Griff leveled the lot of them. Mangled bodies were flying everywhere. Gore fouled the walls and ceilings too. The sight was atrocious, even for veteran eyes. Rebark, in utter dismay, fled down the tunnel, frantically looking behind him. The mass of wrath and destruction followed.

Rebark listened. The carnage had ceased. The past half hour has been a nightmare. His whole army was scattered or dead. He stared, blankly, in shock, at what remained. He kept trying to believe his comrade, another traitorous darknut.
"Sir, the bulk of our forces are awaiting orders. We haven't loss more than a third of our men. What is your word?"
No, that must be a lie. How could anyone be alive after that? Just there, a Bokoblins that was barely breathing, who had arm and chest torn off.
"Sir! Sir!"
Rebark closed his eyes, brought forth an image, a boat in the waves, drifting. It calmed him. The lids opened again. "He must be tired by now. How is the cabin?"
"We have it under watch. Perhaps five cowards made it inside. We halted our advance when the chaos began."
"Very well. Continue the assault. Have the rest of the soldiers, move to the upper levels and the main keep. He is tired, and will regain his composure. He will want to be near his female."
"Yes sir."
Rebark gaze again returned to the devastation. "One darknut? What power he had, only to be wasted... but what power..."

The night had been long. According to the hourglass, it had some length left to it yet. Once again, silence reigned. Here had been fought a mutiny. It was not a mere battle of control, but of ideals, morals. One faction favored the strongest, and with strength of arms and numbers had won. Many had died, on both sides. If the Dark Master had returned, what would he think of this? Would he applaud the victor, or would he chastise them? There is no one who can say with authority, but those who try, say this: "The Dark Master would see the rebel victorious, and grin, and laugh, and say, "Behold the traitor! In his sins are my desires, and through his sins and many more shall my kingdom reign eternal!" Yet, the night was not yet over.

"Oink oink.. What'r mastr say? We gonin in der towr?"
"Oink uhuh oink oink. Towr mayn be good for flesh right now oink." The pair of moblins strolled by in a hurry. Amazingly, they thought nothing of the carnage. There's was not a race to fear death. Not because they believed they could overcome it, but because their greed and lust banished all other thoughts from their tiny brains. Griff grimaced in disgust.
He made sure the corridor was empty, then marched on by. His every other step made him wince, as a deep wound cut into his foot. The dozens of other bruises and cuts ached equally, making them just bearable. His sight blurred, his vision rolling about as if afloat in on the Great Sea. His wounds were mere scratches to him, but the blood loss was sapping his strength.
"Must stay alive." He gasped, gritting his teeth. His brain was taking a terrible toll on his remaining blood supply. It raced to and fro, throbbing, pounding. A plan was forming in it, but that alone was costing him time. Time was one commodity he could not waste.
He found what he was looking for. A door, deep inside the pits of the keep. It was locked secure, but Griff always carried the master key upon him. Inside, everything was as expected. He went to work.
High above, Rebark knocked upon the door. He heard the cries of a female darknut, no doubt Gyrin's labor was almost over. Rebark smirked, he thought it very timely.
"You dare make assault on a birthing ritual, again? Away with ye!" came a yell from inside.
"You are being quite unreasonable."
"Traitor! Keep your vile words in your mouth!"
"Come come," Rebark chuckled. Far from the horror, now in familiar settings, on his terms, he was much more relaxed. "This won't end well for you no matter the particulars. I am afraid we will be coming, the only question is who dies and how."
"I would the deaths belong to you and your filth."
"Is that Remur I hear? Oh good comrade, I knew you. The General favored you a little, he saw what he called "a warrior's spirit" in you. It would be a shame to waste that. However, if you insist on staying inside, I'll just have the torches brought out."
"No!"
"Ah!" exclaimed Rebark with glee. He knew what would make the proud warriors cringe.
"Then perhaps you'd like to die fighting? Its more noble, I suppose. More memorable at least."
"What treachery are you planning now?"
"Nothing of the sort! I am just suggesting you should come out and fight, rather burn and boil, along with the ladies."
"And why should I listen to you? What would you give us, a proper fight in an arena?"
"I promise nothing more than twenty paces, free from hindrance and, ehe, 'foe'."
There was no answer. Rebark smiled, he knew he had won, and walked back down the rampart. He raised his hand. There came a crash as the door flew open, and the hand dropped. The air was filled with black barbed arrows. Remur stared, in agony, shock, and hatred. He and three comrades fell, riddled with shafts. None got up, nor even moved.
Rebark motioned for a Bokoblins to enter. A gurgle and heavy splat came forth. The crafty darknut smiled again, relishing his own cleverness. He took a bomb and, ever so gently, rolled it just beyond the threshold. There was a yell, and the final loyalist leapt outside. The blast still knocked him down, and moments later several more arrows flew into his back. The triumphant darknut marched inside.
"Hello ladies. AH?!"
A new cry, but this was strong and loud.
"Congratulations, a son I see. His father would be proud. I shall hope the pair meet again, soon!"

Rebark was enjoying the night, finally. His mind saw everything that had happened, and played out what would soon happen. Complete dominance of this fortress was in his grasp, he had only to rid one last shadow of the past.
He began contemplating details. The wenches had been tossed over the rampart, save Gyrin and her son. These had been kept under guard in the ship housing. As soon as all was ready, they would be led to the courtyard. There it was a mere waiting game. Rebark doubted the former general would let his only family die to thirst and exposure. Rebark could wait that long. And then...
"General (oh how nice sounded to him), some strange news from the powd..."
"Sir!" broke in another, this a Moblin. "Der prisoners, they gone! And all me men er ded!"
"What?!" Rebark outran him to the holding bay. All the moblins tasked with guarding Gyrin were indeed dead. Each dangling upon a makeshift noose. It seemed that they were strung one by one, silently. He rushed up top. Two guards there, also post-mortem, looking as if they had had their skulls crushed in.
"He must still be alive. But where would he... damn!"
Rebark was swift, and was not long before he made it to the small quay outside the fortress. His fears were realized. A lone sailboat, the smallest of the fleet, was drifting away. A single lantern illuminated it. Aboard, a greyed darknut attempted to comfort his love, as the latter coddled a child.
"You are a fool, Griff!" shouted Rebark, at the top of his lungs. "A fool! You could have had anything here!"
"Rebark," came the commanding reply. "Could power have brought me this?" He vaguely saw Griff motioning to his family.
"What do you think you will do out there? You really think you will survive?"
"I have food and water. I have my love, and my son. What do you have, Rebark?"
Rebark did not answer, as his mind tried to answer that simple question. Yet no answer came. As he pondered, a flame flew over the water. Rebark did not see it until it was too late. It whizzed by his head, the burning arrowhead missing by mere inches.
"Nothing." Rebark lifted his head, a final gaze, full of sin, but at last, subdued. This answer was heard by no soul, nor ever could be. The incendiary barb found its true mark, a brazier. Strings of flame lashed out, running to every hall and tower and keep and crevice. Carefully planted kegs of gunpowder were ignited, simultaneously. The whole of the Forsaken Fortress went up in a great explosion. A massive cloud, full of hellfire, rose into the dark sky. Day came for a few moments, a red day, full of fire and death and wrath. Then it faded into blackness. From that pit of darkness, no one ever emerged.
Griff stood solemnly in the boat. He dropped his longbow, and with a sigh, sat down beside his only companions left in the world. He knew not what would become of him, or Gyron, or his son. Only hope could sustain him. Hope in the unknown. Hope that tomorrow would bring a greater joy than he had known for many years. Hope that, one day, perhaps not in his lifetime, but sometime, the true pride of the darknut would be restored.

It is a century later. The sea is calm, unbroken, unmarred, but for a single raft. A lone diver man prepares to jump into the waves. He is looking for treasure or other valuables. Bah, today is unlucky, only a formation of desecrated rock. He spots something? What's this? Oh, its just a book. A little worn, but remarkably well kept for being underwater for so long. Must be magic. Now, how'd it get all the way out here?
"I wonder what story it has to tell?" he thinks to himself.