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03-15-2013, 06:27 PM
Something ghostly moved between the trees: a flash of white, the rustle of dry brush. Valka’s ears drew up, intrigued. She recognized the shape for horse this time. The flash of adrenaline that accompanied her meeting with Sulwyn was absent; instead the young mare lifted her head and blinked through the trees at the ethereal shape now approaching. Shafts of moonlight painted the stranger in a cold, pale light – but even through the shadows she glowed. Head up, muscles tense beneath the dirty edges of her coat, Valka stood and watched and waited. The stranger greeted her, but for a long time that greeting went unanswered.
”You have a horn,” she said at last, her voice hoarse with awe and disbelief. The sudden tension strung throughout her frame, the way the moonlight glinted in her eyes – it might be read as fear, but it was something else, some bud of hope now bursting into bloom. Valka leaned into a single, shivering forward step and hesitated. Her nostrils flared, sucking in the scent of frost and spice – a smell like winter, like that blowing snow on the day of her birth. ”You are a unicorn, like I am,” mumbled Valka. She wanted suddenly to run but knew not where; she drank in the sight of the stranger instead, her eyes hungry – fervent. You’re beautiful, she thought but didn’t say. The other mare was like a frosted heath, like something from a story: light, lovely, sweet, and yet tinged somehow with the hard glint of frost. Perhaps it was some edge to her voice; perhaps it was merely the way the mare held herself – a stance full of grace and wariness, of feral intelligence.
Valka wanted all of it.
”S-Snö,” she fumbled, trying to remember what the unicorn had said. ”My name is Valka. I’ve been in search of others like myself for…ever.” She nodded. Her mind spilled suddenly, relentlessly, over the best ways to impress a stranger – but it moved so fast it tangled and she was left standing like a dumb girl yet again. ”Are there… others like us? In your herd?” She dared not even hope it, yet she longed to hear it: yes, you aren’t alone. And more than that, she longed to be welcomed and not threatened like some skulking dog. A herd in the north, she thought, envisioning a gathering of unicorns all thick with winter hair, their long manes whipping in the cold wind, horns glinting in a sudden flash of sunlight. Let it be true, let it be true. Surely this was more than some cruel dream.
”You have a horn,” she said at last, her voice hoarse with awe and disbelief. The sudden tension strung throughout her frame, the way the moonlight glinted in her eyes – it might be read as fear, but it was something else, some bud of hope now bursting into bloom. Valka leaned into a single, shivering forward step and hesitated. Her nostrils flared, sucking in the scent of frost and spice – a smell like winter, like that blowing snow on the day of her birth. ”You are a unicorn, like I am,” mumbled Valka. She wanted suddenly to run but knew not where; she drank in the sight of the stranger instead, her eyes hungry – fervent. You’re beautiful, she thought but didn’t say. The other mare was like a frosted heath, like something from a story: light, lovely, sweet, and yet tinged somehow with the hard glint of frost. Perhaps it was some edge to her voice; perhaps it was merely the way the mare held herself – a stance full of grace and wariness, of feral intelligence.
Valka wanted all of it.
”S-Snö,” she fumbled, trying to remember what the unicorn had said. ”My name is Valka. I’ve been in search of others like myself for…ever.” She nodded. Her mind spilled suddenly, relentlessly, over the best ways to impress a stranger – but it moved so fast it tangled and she was left standing like a dumb girl yet again. ”Are there… others like us? In your herd?” She dared not even hope it, yet she longed to hear it: yes, you aren’t alone. And more than that, she longed to be welcomed and not threatened like some skulking dog. A herd in the north, she thought, envisioning a gathering of unicorns all thick with winter hair, their long manes whipping in the cold wind, horns glinting in a sudden flash of sunlight. Let it be true, let it be true. Surely this was more than some cruel dream.
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