In a village, there lived a man. A blacksmith. This blacksmith was not like many other of his trait. He was clean, skin softer than his ladies silk clothes. Said clothes he was able to purchase after working many a day and night crafting pieces of art in his forge from when he first opened it. He would sculpt masterpieces in the overbearing heat of his flames. Farm tools, horse shoes, lantern cages, you name it. He has made many before, and many more to come. No one had ever asked him his name, this bear of a man, his beard as thick as the pelts he wore during the winter days. His hands, big and calloused, were also gentle. He knew more than steel and glass in a forge. He was also a master carpenter. This gentle giant, humbled by his happy work, was a simple man. His wife, to whom he would lay, was kind and wise one. She had in her, the makings of a queen, had her bloodline been royal. The lady, who busied herself with sewing, happily owned a shop with her husband, the blacksmith. They lived in a beat down home, on the outside of a village, on the south side of Majora Mountain. Soon after the excitement of his smithery, the need for tools quickly faded, for he made them too well. They barely would get customers from outside of their village, which was small and only bore fifteen lives in its small encompass.
Life was slow and hard for the blacksmith and his wife. They would trade more of the sewn clothes the wife has made, than the tools the smither would make. This was how they would survive for many a year. It wasn’t until, the smither had turned his middle aged of forty three years, had he fathered a child. A son, nameless for they were uncertain what to call him. The smither would stand outside his home, overlooking the countryside in the valley of the mountain, thinking of a name to give upon his son, as his lady, clothed in silk from his young days, tarnished over time, fed her child from her teet. The smither would sigh, thinking as time went on, until an oddity occurred. The unused road to town, on which he lived upon, was being used by a grand caravan, which of course started to pass by his house. The steeds that pulled these many carriages were all well groomed and had upon them the finest leather. The carriages and cargo were all in the finest of conditions, the craftsmanship behind them gave the old smither warmth in his core.
