Beedle’s eyes widen. "A wise choice! These are artisanally crafted... well, I found them in a crate, but they’re sharp! Thank you for your patronage!"

Because pointing a wooden stick at a Guardian is a bad life choice.

Standing by a crackling fire is , his pack towering like a small mountain behind him.

Link crests the hill near the Dueling Peaks Stable. His tunic is frayed, his traveler’s sword is notched, and his stomach is currently making a noise louder than a Hinox’s snore. He needs supplies.

"I'll take the arrows," Link signals, sliding a handful of green rupees across the wooden counter.