Nabooru hated Ganondorf when he was like this, when his moroseness came to the forefront and blotted out what joy lurked in his disposition. He was not a man yet, but part of him was already so hard. Who could she blame for that? She didn't know. Maybe it didn't matter. She had always tried to guide him out of it, toward something more in keeping with the sunnier outlook of their sisters and aunts and grandmothers. She would never use the word "sunnier" with him, though; that would probably just set him off.

They stood together on the crest of the ridge overlooking the green fields of Hyrule. Their horses wandered a short distance away, her roan moving everywhere at a light canter and his enormous black stallion reflecting the gravity of his own mood. The wind coming off of the fields was cool and wet, sweet in its humidity.

"It smells like rain," she said. The first words spoken between them in the better part of an hour.

His only response was a dismissive grunt. He never took his gaze away from the fields, though his eyes wandered much further beyond them. She said nothing more. There was no talking to him when he was like this, and trying to pry something out of him would only anger him.

After a long time he spoke.

"It should be ours."

She looked at him, still said nothing.

He waved his hand out at the land beyond, at the green fields and the mountains and the rivers and the cool air which was still caressing the both of them.

"That, all of it. It should be ours. It should be for our people just as much as theirs. We should have the same wind, the same water, the same soft grasses."

"Our people are harder than theirs, my King," which she only called him when he needed to be placated.

"Of course we are. We can survive things they never could. But that does not make it right that we should be forced to. Our sisters live and die in the sands where no other people would even dare to walk, but that does not mean that it is right that we should have to do so."

"That is the land of Hylians, my King."

"That is not an argument! That is not even an answer. Why should I allow my sisters to toil underneath the killing sun and walk in wind that cuts through flesh like a hail of razor blades, when it is possible that they should live in a land that would give up its fruits so readily? Why should our lot be so much harder?"

This was an argument that they had had many times before. She could see the emotion building up in him like pressure in a volcano, pushing toward some eruption that she had never seen and lived in fear of.

"Every race is afforded their lot, Ganondorf. Our goddess of the sands watches over us when she would abandon any other race. We live here because no other race could. The Hylians live in those fields because they could live nowhere else. That is the will of the gods, and it is not our place to covet the lots of others."

"Covet?" He looked at her for the first time in what must have been hours, his eyes wide with fury. Anyone else - even the witches who had birthed him - would have quailed at that look, but Nabooru knew Ganondorf too well. That look was not for her, in truth. He turned it back out to the fields and beyond, to the distant, hazy spectre of the town that surrounded the castle of the Hylian king.

"Yes," he said, his voice cracking. He was still so young, but something in his voice reverberated deep in her skull. "Yes. That is the will of the gods."

No, she realized, she did not "hate" Ganondorf when he was like this. Hatred was something she had never felt, which she was not sure she was even capable of. She could see it now, though, smoldering in his eyes, wresting away his reason, filling him with such wrath that she had no frame of reference by which to understand it. Old Gerudo kings had been worshipped as gods, and though Ganondorf had no such aspirations she began to wonder at what that might mean. What fire was it that burned in his brain, that drove him to this silent fury? She hoped she would never find out.

Then - just as suddenly and as severely as it had appeared - it was gone, and he turned back to her with a grin, once more the boy king that she had grown up with.

"That's enough sulking," he said. "It's not right for a king and his advisor to comport themselves this way! Let's go back, and we will see if we can find anything interesting in the library."

He put his hand on her shoulder, a brief gesture of familial solidarity - when he was a man it would be different, but as of now he had no concept of gender - and she touched his hand with hers. They let go together, walked to their horses, and rode back. He would be perfectly happy for weeks, now, as if this were something he had to get out of his system every once in a while. But it would not last: before long he would be back here again, and the storm would continue to build behind his eyes.

She wished she knew how one boy could harbor so much hatred.