He lies.

I don’t know for sure, of course, but when less than five minutes prior the man looked at me like an insect that needed to be swatted into the wall (thus reminded of its smallness), I find I can’t take much from his statement that it is a pleasure to have met me. It certainly hasn’t been a pleasure meeting him, not by my standards, more a disastrous clash of personalities that, had it been a different day, might have genuinely been what he calls it.

I bob my head in mock agreement. That’s what I’m supposed to do, right, acknowledge he’d said something?

Either way, the statement or the motion of my head (perhaps both) makes him comfortable enough to come in, his hooves and tail trailing white chunks of snow among the russet bark and wood. I hadn’t noticed until now that they are layered in white, and that his hooves, compacted with the stuff, and think to myself that they are probably aching, even as a shiver lightly traces along my figure, less harsh than those which had come first.

I find myself looking at them while he ponders what question he wants to ask. I’d half expected him to have one waiting for me, and that he takes the time to think of one lets my idle, young mind wander off on such ventures as to how much of the evening has slipped by in our awkward social encounter, or how it seems my body is finally gaining some ground on the sweat slicked chill of my frame.

His voice, which has been smooth and even throughout our conversation (perhaps riled by anger at points, but never this shivering wisp of a thing he uses now), trembles through the air, along the lines of his question. My eyes widen, surprised he does not know, wondering precisely how far this herd has slipped out its designated path that their own Haruspex doesn’t know the history of its cultures, forgetting the reluctance that had found itself while he asked, childishly thinking nothing of it or the fact that he cannot meet my golden eyes which search him in wonder of his ignorance.

I guess it makes sense if he is new here and those here have not been forthcoming of our history. Perhaps they, too, do not know – which is a shame. The Aurora Basin and the unicorns within have outlasted many forces which sought to destroy them, to defile the golden glory of their virtuous cause and purpose.

"It has always been so," I answer, hearing my mother’s satin voice ripple through my thoughts, feeling the swell of pride in my breast that I knew the stories, that I remembered, "ever since the Frostheart and the Dark Empress claimed right to the World’s Edge, even after the people were driven from the Moon’s wood by the Qian and their fierce Dragon Queen, Mirage. Before then, too, though I never learned the stories to be more than legends…either way, the God of the Spark appeared to the unicorns, a God who had never before been seen in Helovia, and led them here, to the Basin, a land seemingly made for their people, as none but the God himself had walked its valley before then.”

I do not name their clandestine accomplices, the name of the group of murderers and wolves which had gathered at my mothers summons - the Plague. While my mother’s eyes do not watch, my father is still here, and I can feel the dark shadow of Deimos’ eyes watching the land; in all honesty, I fear them and their retribution more than I ever have my dam.

"I know of no precise reason, but have speculated, as have my kin. The Empress shared tales of her birth land with my dam," I explain further, "it was a land which was divided by race as we now do here on our own, a land which was ruled by the horned. For the Lady Psyche, I believe it was comfort which drove her to her own blood, and of course ambition. I do not know why the Frostheart took such a path; all I know is that we have never cast away their laws, and that many would not seek to, that few challenge them. Who would, when an unknown God saw fit to bless them both with a land, to appear to them first? It is almost as if He approved of their course.”

Growing distant, my golden eyes dim, my mind retracting to the firefly wood and the mammoth cave at its heart; I think of the Starpool and its deep, endless waters, and I feel my heart swell with the resolve that the God of the Spark, son and creation of the First Gods, had indeed placed a benevolent seal of approval on the somewhat violent aims of the Plague and the greater herd that hid them.

"We have a vast right to this world, Ashamin," I say, finding focus again on the black eyed Haruspex, my tail curling with an absent pleasure behind me, "a right which time and time again is presented to us on the lips of Gods. Perhaps that is truly why the Aurora Basin only allows unicorns."