Industry gives comfort and plenty and respect.

-Benjamin Franklin

The air was crisp, placid, and chilly on the Surface, in an uneasy way that was so very different from Skyloft. It was cloudy here, unlike in Skyloft where they rested above the angelic white, cottony, puffs of condensation; no, here on the Surface, when clouds snuck over the sun, it made the entire land cold and dark. On Skyloft, when the day was hot and muggy, a wind would pass through to ease the inhabitants, and when it was chilly, the sun's heat would swell and comfort the little people that thrived on the floating island. On the Surface, though, when it was hot, it was hot, and when it was cold, it was cold. As of this very moment, exactly four and a half months after the Skyloftians migrated to the Earth to become Hylians, the wind stood as still as the North Star, clouds hung blankly and statically- stratus clouds- unlike any they had seen before, and Autumn had settled into the most densely populated area of the surface, Faron Woods. The titanic trees donned leaves in a plethora of colors, ranging from orange to brown and yellow to the occasional purple. The grass faded from its lustrous green into a murky gold that would shine in the sunlight should the sun dare slink from its hiding spot in the clouds.

Needless to say, the newest inhabitants were entirely unaccustomed to these alien weather patterns, having only one season in Skyloft: Summer. Fortunately, pumpkins tended to thrive in this environment, so as the weather grew colder, the impending doom of this foreign "Winter" would not prove to be so wretched, provided they could store enough. The villagers had a lot to learn, though. Houses would need to be made quickly and with a sturdy material, hence the focus on the weather and raw materials; the century-old trees would feel the weapons of man, creaking and groaning with an inconsequential protest. Stones would be dismantled from the rock beds, piled up into walls and buildings. Though Pumpkins and other minor crops could sustain the population, it didn't please them. The large and glistening mushrooms were quite frightening to an unsure set of eyes, so they were avoided entirely. Birds, the small ones of course, served as a suitable meal for a single person, yet were hard to catch by a clumsy hand. Next spring, the colony of sentient beings would deal with the aspects of food: animal domestication, experimentation of mushrooms, and gathering of new crops. For now,despite the displeasure of the small village dubbed Hyrule, pumpkins would have to do.

This Hyrule was a long path just northeast of the Sealed Grounds, with houses and a single general store lining the sides of the one road. Roughly a mile long in length, the path ended near the entrance to the eastern portions of Faron Woods where one could find the Kikwis. The end of this path held a large house, designed slightly like the Knight Academy, but only in its structure. This, per se, was the capital, where Zelda and her father lived as the unanimously elected rulers of the village. The fact that Zelda was a Goddess in mortal form wasn't exactly a settling thought, but it didn't change much either; Zelda was still Zelda, outside for most of the day, curiosity driving her to explore as much as she could, or as much as her father would allow her to. Yet the tribes in that dwelled in the other regions were an unknown force. They posed no threat that the Hylians were aware of, (the Kikwis had kindly greeted them upon their first day of arrival, bearing a basket of fruits) but there was no reason to not take precautions; the Goron that wandered around from time to time looked quite strong and overbearing and, well, everything else was simply new and frightening.

Other than the fear of the unknown that spread like the plague, the Hylians were, for the most part, happy of the change in environment and the glorious and copious future it held for all of them.

Groose frowned at the weather above him, wrapping a scratchy, plant-fiber blanket closer around his body. His pompadour flopped disdainfully to his frustration, as no gel as superb as the one up in Skyloft could compensate for what he had now: tree sap. He shivered, and his skin broke into goosebumps, or as he preferred to call them, Groosebumps. The ground was frozen and hard, so even when he dug his boot into the soil, nothing was unearthed except for a few dead blades of grass.

He sighed as a shiver ran down his spine and a beetle inched its way in front of Groose's feet, lethargic and pitiful. The insect stopped and turned itself towards the Hylian more boldly than Groose had ever seen a bug act. He hovered his foot over the creature, mentally disputing on whether the life of this seemingly useless beetle would be vanquished or not. The beetle, sensing danger, scuttled away through the grass, and Groose lowered his foot back to its original position, huffing with an unsatisfied grimace.

The pitiful town that now served as his permanent home (he looked up at the sky with remorse now, remembering the life he used to hold so dear) was empty of bustling life, as all the inhabitants were indoors, moping and dragging around their low spirits on this dreadful day. Yet now, Groose stood outside, staring contemplatively at the half-built houses that stood as strong as the trees and stones from which they were derived, with smoke curling lazily from their chimneys. He had assisted in building a few of them during days with superior weather from dawn until dusk. This new life was a paradox; upon living on Skyloft, Groose had considered his life exciting and daring, gallant and superb. Though, when he first ventured onto the surface, he believed the solid ground, grand trees, and foreign species to be a new and heightened level of exhilaration- a slice of a heroic and bold life that he had always dreamed of. But as his feet crunched under the dead grass and leaves of the forest, echoing without the perpetual and calm cries of the birds who had supposedly snuggled away for the winter, Groose couldn't help but think that whatever Link and Zelda had dragged them all into was, in a very real sense, boring and laborious.

Groose strode eastward towards his destination: the Sealed Grounds. Had it not been for the enormous Statue of the Goddess protruding from the Earth, Groose may have become lost on his way there; pushing back overgrown brush and tree limbs from the path to the secluded temple proved to be confusing without the point of reference dominating the horizon.

Groose stopped at the entrance to the sacred place, pushing at the moss-covered, ancient door that had worn away a slick groove in the soil beneath it from constant use over the most recent months. He sniffed the familiar air that hung heavy with dust and air from thousands of years past. He came to stop in front of the frozen, lifeless stone that no longer pulsed with the regularity of a clock, and hesitantly touched the colossal ornament. He retracted his hand as if he had been burnt by breaking a forbidden law, fear running through him from the sacred object and into him. This mechanism, this mass with a scent of ancient times, held no, stole a part of him. That part of him was thousands of years in the past, cold, and sealed, leaving him feeling naked and maimed, violated and robbed.

Standing there, inches in front of him, her braid swinging with the tempo of the Door of Time, was where he had last seen Impa, the ancient woman of a thousand years. Just as the rhythmic ticking of the door had stopped, so had her her swinging braid- so had her heartbeat. The one who had believed in him the entire time, knowing his key role in destiny.

He missed her. Groose missed Impa more than he did his hair gel, or Pumpkin soup under the rusty light of the Lumpy Pumpkin, or even what it felt like to fly on the back of his Loftwing. Groose drew his eyes away from the sight and dropped a wilting flower at the base of the Door of Time.

As Groose returned to the center of town, his heart lightened but still stinging, an audible ruckus rang and echoed in the village. It sounded akin to shouting, and Groose shuddered, having already heard far too much of the cries of humans in past times. He unwittingly quickened his pace, rounded a corner, and found himself at the back of a crowd, loud and panicked as the constant rustle of people pushing and shoving overtook all that he could hear.

The shorter people having been pushed to the back, Groose yelled a curt, "Watch where you're going!" And dove curiously into the populous ocean.

By the time he had gotten to the front of the mass, he saw the front of a small, wooden building, windows boarded up. On the porch of it stood Rupin, the ever-smiling shop owner whose facade of rosey cheeks were now nothing but an angry contortion. On his back rested a rucksack stacked a mile high, filled to the brim while the most absurd things- pots, hammers, even what seemed to be a cloth bag leaking out some flour- were attached to the outside of the backpack.

"People, people!" Rupin's hands were up in the air at shoulder height, "Please calm down!"

More shouting and yelling ensued, and Groose turned his head from side to side, utterly bewildered.

Rupin picked up a suitcase he hadn't noticed before, and shouted at a level unfeasible for such a small frame, "SHUT UP!" The crowd silenced slightly on a whim, "I cannot stay here any longer, and I have decided to move my business elsewhere. I-"

A tall, burly man in the crowd yelled violently, stepping onto a barrel to raise himself, "But this is the only shop we have! You employ nearly half of us!"

More ruckus.

"HEY!" Despite the shouting refusing to cease, Rupin continued, "I don't care if you all think I should stay here- it's rowdiness like this that makes me want to disappear from here forever!"

A man bumped Groose in the back as the crowd became more tightly packed, forcing Groose to the front, "Watch it, now. I'm not your punching bag."

One of the men nearby- Groose recognized him as Gondo- was using his superior height and booming voice to gather attention, "Where will you go?"

Rupin sighed, shaking his head in his hand, "The Mogmas, you idiots! I just told you that!"

Kina stood on her toes, her long black hair settling below her shoulders, as she no longer had the means to keep it in an updo. Groose toyed with the idea that she was in a similar hair predicament to him. "But our soup pot is in there," Kina stressed, "How can you take all of our utensils and goods? We'll starve! Everything owned by the community was in the bazaar, how could you?!"

"Oh, shut up, Kina," Rupin groaned, "You- all of you- gave me autonomy over the store. It was no longer a bazaar, it was my store. I have every right to take the things I own wherever I please!"

Groose furrowed his brow interrogatively, "How will you even get business there? That's practically on the other side of the world!" He added, knowing he was being listened to, "You can't be serious!"

"Well, I am. And there's nothing you can do about it." Rupin folded his arms defiantly, "If you want goods, go make your own." With an angry huff, he picked up his two enormous suitcases, readjusted his backpack, and dashed off into the woods behind the store, leaving the crowd still in a ruckus.

"Someone chase after him!" Groose said, gesturing to the deep forest behind the shop, "He can't run very fast with that attached to his back. We can still catch him!"

When no one moved, Groose turned to look at the mass of people, staring back at him blankly, "What, aren't we going to go after our food and tools?"

Peater swaggered forward, put a large hand on Groose's shoulder, "You can go after him, Groose, but I don't advise going by yourself." Before Groose could protest and ask why they wouldn't come, Peater shook his head, his blonde hair becoming easily disheveled, "No one's keen on leaving our little village here, not even the knights. Son, I think it's best if we let him leave. We'll manage, we always do. Especially with the help and blessing of our Goddess, Hylia." He motioned towards the biggest house at the end of the long lane.

Groose swallowed harshly, "Yeah…"

Groose stood motionless in the midst of the rowdy crowd, bewildered. Not only was it astonishing that Rupin actually thought he could get business from the Mogmas unless he had some kind of hidden treasure, but Groose was hardly convinced that Rupin- who had been the town's sole supplier, employer, and manufacturer since they came on to the surface and had employed the other Bazaar workers- could just quit. The whole town relied on his store for their staple goods: sugar, flour, salt, the works- all brought down when they migrated from Skyloft to Hyrule. And yet now the front door had been barred up with wood and fashioned with several locks, as well as all of the goods inside stacked up in a huge backpack that now was just an ample traveler as Rupin.

The flock of villagers had begun to disperse, mumbling to themselves about hungry mouths to feed, their nearly depleted resources, their children who have grown thin and crops that were small and runt-like. Groose jogged up to Gondo, who walked with angry strides towards the direction of his house, and stopped him.

"Gondo, you worked for him," Groose said, "Do you know why he's doing this? It doesn't seem like him. He adores money, and that's what we give him."

Gondo sighed and shook his head, "You heard him, Groose; he said he wanted to sell his goods to the Mogmas. They've got lots of treasure up in the mountains." He continued walking, his giant pace difficult for even Groose to keep up with.

Groose scrambled to find words, "No, I mean… why?"

"I just told you why."

"No man with a steady income would just run off like that, right?" Groose asked, mostly just asking himself, Gondo was already ahead of him again, "He's practically got the whole town wrapped around his damn finger. It's not like the Mogma even need sugar and flour, don't they eat rocks or something?" When Groose looked up, Gondo was already slamming the door to his small house, locking the door, probably to tinker around with things to relieve stress. Groose didn't blame him, nor did he blame anyone else who was filtering out of the long strip of land and heading home- many of them had just lost their jobs. Peatrice was no longer a cashier, Pumm had no soup to sell and Kina no songs to sing. Sparrot had no fortunes to tell, Gondo no longer could tinker away at customers' items and Luv and Bertie's potions ingredients lay in Rupin's rucksack.

Groose walked across the dirt path towards his own house, stopping just outside the door. Kneeling beside his personal pumpkin patch, he poked the small, orange gourds. The biggest one was hardly the size of his palm, and the rest weren't much to look at, anyway. A small layer of frost was covering the vines and he looked heavenward, hoping the dreary sky would give way to beams of sunlight to warm the frozen earth. In terms of clothing, he and the other villagers hadn't much suited to this weather. Groose did own a cloak, but it was only thick enough to cover from the lightest of winds.

"If you want goods, you can go make your own," Groose repeated Rupin's words to himself, entering his small wooden home. He shut the door, locked it with a satisfying click, and decided to settle in for the remainder of the day. The town needed time to mourn, to get over the loss of their resources, to reorganize their thoughts.

Knowing- or rather, hoping- Gaepora and Zelda, as leaders of the village, would come up with a solution, Groose popped open the second to last bottle of pumpkin soup he had stored on his shelf and poured it into the pot atop his wood-burning stove to heat it. Well, from now on he'd better learn to make his own pumpkin soup from scratch, considering he could no longer purchase it in the bottle. That is, Groose thought, looking out the window and at his pitiful patch, if the pumpkins survived.

Once it had been heated, he poured it from the pot into his bowl and sipped from that. The sweet, warm, thick soup that he had so often eaten in Skyloft and at the Lumpy Pumpkin was a distant memory, a taste he could recall, but no longer enjoy. It was sufficient, but watered down and seasoned with nothing but salt. To be honest, though, Groose didn't blame Pumm for being hesitant about putting foreign herbs in his soup that the whole community ate.

When he had finished, he stared out his bedroom window, onward at the northernmost building in the village. Sometimes he hoped he could catch a glimpse of Zelda through her window- no, not for any perverted reason- but just to know that she was alive. Yearning to know of her safety was a habit of his, one that he thought of daily since she had nearly lost her life to Ghirahim and the Demon King. Of course, they had all nearly lost their lives that day, but thinking of Zelda perishing made it no longer an adventure, but the most real threat he had ever faced.

Groose knew he could worry about Zelda all he wanted to, and she would still be safe. Naturally, there was no threat, for she was the Goddess herself, and Link, the Chosen Hero. Both were here to protect the new Hyrule, and each other. Being through all the endeavours with Link and Zelda might have made Groose realize he had been a bit harsh on not only Link, but...everyone; however, it didn't make his stomach stop lurching with jealousy when Zelda would skip around town, her pretty hair flowing behind her shoulders, Link tagging along like a lost puppy.

A draft entered through the window and Groose slammed it shut in frustration. It could do him some good to think like Link. If Zelda found Link so fascinating, then Groose could just do what Link would do- and what a perfect opportunity that has sprung upon him! The village is in peril, no food to be found, but no one would have to go to Link for help. Everything they needed would be right here with Groose.

A/N: And that's the exposition chapter. The second chapter is currently in the works and I promise it's a lot more exciting than this. Thank you for reading, and please give a review if you have the time. :)