Hush Little Scrub
Forty-three hours without sleep. Even in Hyrule, Link could catch a snooze on the occasion. This wasn't Hyrule, but a place where sleep was a luxury unaffordable. With too small feet he still wasn't use to, Link stumbles through town. Citizens stare at the scrub awkwardly making wish Link for his Hylian form instead of cursed wooden flesh.
He heard a feral grow: the damn mutt. Link ran with the dog quick on his heels, but he trips on unsteady legs. Pain erupts as fangs tear sharply press into his torso. He shoots a bubble that knocks away the canine before dashing away. His gloved hand pressed against the wound. He doesn't want to see what a deku's blood looks like—if such a thing exists.
He needs the fairies' magic located in North Clock Town. Still one hand clutches his torches, and one flower limply glides him to the entrance. He thumps to the ground, and agonizingly inches into the shrine.
Each time, no matter the despair or desperation, Link always had time to admire the mystical enchantment of a fairy shrine; the music, the sparkles, the balls of light dancing above the celestial water. He wanted to smile, but the hole replaced his Hylian lips. The Great Fairy twirls from the water, her lips perfectly able to smile down at him.
Green circles of euphoria engulf him, the wound stitching back together. His orange eyes lose its glow, and he discovered his eyelids for the first time. He stumbled into the shallow water, and slumped over. As sleep finally overcame him, the fairies whispered.
Hush Little Scrub, don't you cry
Fairies will sing you a lullaby
Little Scrub, made of leaves and wood,
Racing through time as fast as he could
The moon grins from the sky
And even though destruction seems nigh
With his gathered might
Little Scrub will set the land right