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Legend looked at the shield in his hands, then back up at the smithy, giving him a sharp toothed grin. “I don’t know, I’d say I’ve looked worse.”
The Smith huffs out a laugh, air blown out of their face to reveal concerned eyes. Their hands burry in the green grass, pulling up fistfuls to worry between callused fingers. They tilt their head back, looking up at the tree boughs above them, letting out a heavy sigh.
“That’s not the problem and you know it. You’ve been holding the curse back too long again,” he scolds, eyes flashing a vivid blue when he looks back at the transformed hero. “You know what happened last time.”
Legend winces, raising a clawed hand to run along the scales covering his cheeks and neck. “I haven’t been violent this time,” he offers sheepishly.
“No, you’re just covered in scales and unable to change back.”
Another wince. He glances back down at the shield, his tail swishing in front of him, the fins stirring up the shallow water. Soon he’ll have to dive back into the pool, refill his lungs and wet his skin before it can dry out. He should now, but he takes the moment to examine himself, dousing himself temporarily with a splash of his tail.
Pink scales run up his sides, shimmering gold in the setting sunlight. They stretch up his chest, wrapping around his neck and the gills sitting there, covering his cheeks and arching over the bridge of his nose. He bares his teeth at the mirror, sharp canines that are more like needles than anything else revealing themselves. He lifts a hand to run through his slowly pinkening hair, the color growing up from the tips. Sharp claws scratch at his scalp, a fin extending from his wrist to his elbow, spiked along the edge and golden in color.
He jumps off the rock and swims over to the shore where Four sits, setting the shield on the bank. The water feels heavenly, and he hates how easily he adjusts to the chillier temperature it bears.
“Twilight and Sky aren’t back from town yet?”
“Time says they won’t be back until tomorrow morning at earliest.”
Legend nods, resigning himself to wait until the heroes return with the Master Sword. Hopefully it will be enough to free him of the curse’s teeth, buried as they are in his soul and magic.
“Thanks, Smithy.”
Blonde hair swings down as the short hero leans forward, pulling the shield into his lap, a polish rag already in hand.
Eyes flash red before fading to green. “Not a problem Vet. We’re all here if you need us.”