Impa looked sternly from under her furrowed brow at the figure approaching. Tall and lean, she carried a flaming torch that bathed the narrow corridor in welcome light; the sconces that lined the sandy, stone walls did more to cast shadows than actually light the way. “I’ve been waiting,” Impa stated, matter-of-factly, standing straight from her leaning position. Her silver hair was tied in a neat bun and the sacred eye, the symbol of the Sheikah, was painted across her…