As Link walked out of the sacred grove, the Forest Golem, who had been waiting motionless at the entrance, straightened to its full, immense height. The sickly yellow light in its eyes was gone, replaced by a steady, healthy green. As Link passed, the ancient guardian slowly, deliberately, bowed its great, stony head, a gesture of respect and fealty from one protector to another.
The journey out of the woods was a journey of rebirth. The forest was waking up. The first sign was the wind. He felt it on his cheek, a gentle breeze that whispered through the high branches, and for the first time since he had entered, he heard the soft, welcome rustle of leaves. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
He walked the true path, no longer needing the mask's sight to guide him. The oppressive silence was broken. A lone bird, a brave winter finch, let out a tentative, exploratory chirp. A moment later, another answered. Soon, the air was filled with a hesitant but growing chorus. The symphony of the forest was slowly, cautiously, beginning to play again.
He reached the edge of the Whispering Woods as the sun was beginning to set. He looked back at the trees, at the place of deep sorrow that was now a place of fragile hope. He had left a piece of his own spirit there, but the forest had given him a piece of its own in return.
Before he turned to leave for good, he felt one last, deep thought echo in his mind, a final message from the grateful Forest Golem. It was not a word, but an image, a direction, a gift of guidance. He saw a vision of a roaring forge, its heat a stark contrast to the cool woods. He saw a sun-scorched mountain range, so different from the gentle hills of his home. And he saw a face: an older man, his hair and beard a wild, lion-like mane of grey, his eyes fierce and proud, his hands calloused from holding the hilt of a sword.
The will of despair must be met by a will of steel, the golem's thought rumbled. The old lion sleeps in the south, near the sun-scorched mountains. He can teach you the song of the blade.
The vision faded. Link stood at the edge of the now-murmuring woods, the setting sun at his back. His aimless wandering was over. The spirits had given him what he had been searching for all along: a purpose, and a path. He was no longer just a boy running from his destiny. He was a boy walking towards it.
He looked south, towards the distant, hazy outline of the Gerudo Desert borderlands. He had a master to find. He had a will to forge. He took a deep breath of the newly clean air, his hand resting on the hilt of his father's sword, and set off, his steps sure and steady on the road ahead.