Cerisa was actually glad to leave the forest. It seemed so drab lately; cold. The trees seemed to of list their vitality, the Forest Children their songs and play, and the Great Deku Tree his cheerfulness, was it really all because of that boy? Link, wasn't it? She did have to feel sorry for him, but the plague he seemed to be creating in the Forest wallowed up most of her compassion.

"Hopefully," She muttered out loud, “these Hylians up in the Castle could help, otherwise I'll have to find a new home, and my wings don't seem to be as energetic lately. Mother always said it was a sign. . . ."

Finally approaching the Castle, she slowed down to a hover, searching carefully for her quarry . . . a girl who’s actually the princess of Hyrule, but won't look like one . . . and a nursemaid that won't probably be seen unless she has to beat the senses out of someone. Things were so encouraging . . . she better be at the right castle.

Cerisa yawned suddenly, realizing that the speedy journey here without stops had exhausted her. She fluttered down towards the east wall of the castle and nestled upon a soft wooden crate, closing her eyes and peacefully taking in the tranquil trickling of the moat.

After a few moments though she realized she wasn’t the only one taken advantage of the situation. Loud, guttural snores were emanating from the other side of the crate. She crossly shook herself up and peeked over the side and wrinkled her nose in disgust.

A large, smelly, obese Hylian was sprawled across the ground, bearing a badge on his shirt similar to the design of the crate, it looked like a deer or something, and this man was probably supposed to deliver it to the castle, but fell asleep upon arrival.

Cerisa wanted to scream at him . . . The door was only a few feet away! Couldn't he of waited? Instead of getting flustered, she calmed herself down in knowing that she was doing the same thing.

"Maybe we're soul mates, hee hee!" She thought sleepily. She nestled down atop the rounded mountain that was his stomach, the rhythmic motion almost blotting out his snores . . . almost. . . .

Had she not been so close to such a noise maker, she might have heard the quiet shuffles of someone else approaching, the noise of a glass bottle being relieved of its topper, the sudden swishing movement of her hands when she swept the bottle over the fatigued fairy and screwing it shut, capturing her with horrid and cruel efficiency.

Of course, there isn't much hope of hearing anything when one tries resting upon a man like Talon, or evading the tricky Malon, who always so much wanted a fairy friend. . . .

Feel pity for Cerisa. She really could have used that nap.