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He had gravely overcalculated his position, his role, in the Plague, and the slave knew it. He waited, full of anxienty, outside of the tiny cave, hardly more than a shallow depression in the rock, that served as his home, close to Mistress Snö but out of way, out of sight, so those who were not racists, and simply preferring company of unicorns, knew not of him and his master. Unicorns. He was created to serve them, a gift to them, the dun very well knew and loved the idea.
The pony was obsessed, infatuated with the unicorns- Rapha longed to be one, loved to serve them, even if he was a fearful little thing. They were glorious, splendorific, fantastic, gorgeous, astonishing, marvelous, stunning, unimaginable, breathtaking, awesome- they were his little world, they were his gods, they were the ones he prayed to at night in his little cave away from the world. Even the most ugly ones were beautiful, graceful, and elegant. They were created, they were pure, and the horns upon their heads was proof of their breathtaking almighty powers. They were... they were... everything.
Rapha stood in front of his cave, trembling, after retreating here when Psyche had snapped at him. He had stepped out of place. How dare he? How could he? How could he be so irrevocably stupid? Unicorns were far, far above him in importance. And Lady Psyche was up there with the Moon Goddess. There was a chill in him, as he remembered her teeth upon his flank. There would be worse coming for him, he knew. How could Rapha step in front of Psyche, confront another unicorn? Valentine. He, he was the one who had pushed him to try and protect the Lady! Psyche was his master, at least for now, while princess Snö was gone. Speaking of which, where was she? Where was his pretty master?
Breathing heavily, nervously, the pony took to pacing in front of his small, shallow cave. It was near dusk, and surely Psyche would come looking for him soon to reprimand him. The sun was washing the sky in pale pinks and creams, a faint tinge of gold, all bleeding together over the mountains tall and vast and creamy and magnificent. The inside of the cave he had lined with pine needles, a bit stingy, but at least softer than hard rock. On the outside, pine trees began quite soon, except for maybe a small ten-foot clearing, all coarse grass, with a distinct path trampled in from where the slave paced constantly. This little home was all he deserved anyways. Rapha was only a small horse- not a unicorn.
""
.i'm lost without the unicorns.
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