I had seen the boy in this very same glade just a day or two earlier. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I had seen the boy in a brighter version of this glade, where trees were trees and didn't have eyes or spit bombs out of their snouts. In fact, the boy himself had been, well, a boy, rather than a humanoid fox-creature clad in a vest and tunic. You'd think I'd stop being surprised at such sights after paying a monkey precious rupees to open the path to a temple, after speaking with trees and being chased down by armored, bipedal reptiles and hounds.
Still, I recognized him, sitting on that stump, just where I had seen him vanish. Only in that world, the grass had been a calming green, the trees swaying in a cool spring breeze while animals listened to him play expertly upon the ocarina. Now, however, he was surrounded by brown weeds and the trees were silent, observing. The gaze in their eyes was sorrowful, as if to say "Another lost soul. Poor chap, only a matter o' time before he's swallowed by this uncaring land".
"Hello, Link," the boy ventures. I cannot comprehend how his fox snout forms words so perfectly, yet he manages. I step forward, uncertain of what to say. Thanks to the Moon Pearl, I've maintained my shape in this accursed land, a form that has been viewed with jealousy by shopkeeps and bandits. After all, what makes me so special that I remain human while everyone else is transformed into some grotesque shape?
Just a trinket, friends, found in a tower atop Death Mountain.