Author's Note:
I wrote this fic under the title Unicorn in the Moonlight, under my old name Dark Neko Shinigami, back in early 2000. If you'd like to read the original, you can find it there, though my planned re-write is going to go in a different direction. I plan to be more thorough with this, take my time with it and actually finish this one. Regretfully, I doubt the email I used for that account is even accessible anymore, and my failed attempts to get back into said account have proved futile. When I left the Gundam Wing fandom, I took the plot for this story with me to another fandom, applying it to different characters. However, it just didn't sit as well for there as it did here, so, I decided to do a re-write. I don't know if anyone will read this, or even enjoy it, but this plot is still so dear to my heart I just want to write it again. I hope you do enjoy it. Long live Gundam Wing. =)

Wu

The sunlight was barely touching the tops of the highest trees when Trowa pulled his cap low and gathered his bow and quiver of arrows. He was small for his age, only nine summers had passed since his birth. Eight of those had been without his parents, a terrible fire having left just he and his older sister, Catherine to live alone in a stone house two miles east from the main village. The stone cabin had been abandoned for a long time, and since it was so far from town, Cathy, at her tender age of five, had taken on the role of adult. She didn't have to beg, as packages and food were left during the night by the single door of the old homestead. It's how it was on Dark Mountain. You took care of your own, even if you did it under the dark of night, with no one to see your act of charity.

The older ladies took Cathy in, taught her how to properly clean and sew during the days, making sure she would have the skills she needed as she grew into a woman. Their husbands or sons would take Trowa into the woods, showing him how to track game, how to fish, field dress animals and butcher meat. They were both quick studies and adapted well to their new life. There was hardly time for them to be children.

Trowa adapted well to a schedule once he was able to head out alone. Supplies came through once a month, and he was able to put up a stall and sell game, sometimes eggs and butter when they were in surplus, to buy what they needed while the caravan was there for the week. When they pulled out, he gathered his cart and pulled home the items more desperately needed during the winter months.

"Be careful, Trowa!" Cathy called cheerfully from the door. She braced herself against the doorframe, grimacing at the bite of the early winter wind. "I love you! Don't forget to bring home some cloth so I can make you some new pants, okay? And if you can, find a pair of boots, your old ones are wearing out!" She stuck her arm out and waved at him for good measure. "I think you're finally due for a growth spurt!" Her laughter, full of light and life, reached his ears briefly before it was cut away by another harsh gust of wind.

Trowa tucked his chin down, cutting his eye to her. It was the only answer he would give as he pulled his wagon down the old dirt road, heading for the main thoroughfare to the village. The trauma of so long ago, that horrible night that left Trowa with more nightmares of his parents than actual memories, had damaged his heart. He didn't dare let anyone in, it was enough that Cathy had managed to squeeze into the small confines, but he wondered; was there enough room for her? His heart often felt so small.

::Iria?::

::Yes, Quatre?:: she answered the mind link.

::What… is that?:: The small foal pressed close to his sister while they watched, hidden, as the young boy trudged down the dirt road, the hand wagon bumping along behind him.

::That's a human child, Quatre,:: came the gentle response.

::I didn't know they were so… small.::

::They come in all shapes and sizes, just like us,:: she said as she lifted her head higher. Trowa was just rounding a bend in the road, and was beginning to disappear.

::But not like us, right?::

Shaking out her mane, she turned her head, gently nuzzling the foal at the cheek. ::No. Not like us. Come, it's almost time for bed, the sun is almost over the tree line, and besides, Hilde should be back soon.::

Hilde was her daughter, weaned barely a week before Quatre's mother was slaughtered by hunters for her precious alicorn. Foolish mortals, they never seemed to catch on that once the life force behind the horn was gone, so were the so called mystical powers. Iria had taken over the role of mother for her only brother, nursing him as she had Hilde, often getting between the two when her daughter's jealousy began to rise and sibling rivalry reared its ugly head. Hilde wasn't so sure she liked having a baby brother butting in to her mother/daughter bonding time.

::Come, Quatre, let's go.::

Quatre lifted a long, slender foreleg and paused, unsure of what to do next. He wanted to see the child closer, and since he was hornless, he'd be safe. He turned his head and gave her a questioning look, but Iria only shook her head. ::Let him be,:: she said gently.

::Yes, Iria,:: Quatre said obediently and followed her into the thick forest. They paused by a brook, warmed upstream by the sun, and while she drank, he pressed close to her side and suckled. Her shoulder twitched as his little bottle brush tail flipped up and down, then side to side as he tried to tuck closer to her. The closer he got to her side, she had learned during his short life, the more tired he was. When he was sated, she tucked him and Hilde into the hollow trunk of an old tree that had forgotten to fall after it had died, and during the day, kept watch over her foals.

Quatre lowered his head, the smooth movement sending moonlight to glint along his alicorn. Hilde snorted once, shook out her dark mane and lowered her head as well. Tails flagged as the two unicorns, one the color of the moon above, the other the color of night, moved towards one another with soft, floating trots. Their hooves made splendid whispers upon the soft spring grass. Iria gave a soft, mental groan and cocked one hip. They were adults now, she was not going to break up another bought of sibling rivalry. Besides, it was good for Quatre to start asserting himself and break her daughter's habit of running over him.

::You're not going to bully me anymore, Hilde,:: Quatre said, narrowing his cerulean eyes.

Hilde snorted in response. ::What are you going to do about it, squirt?:: she countered as they began to side pass one another in a circle. Necks arched, nostrils flared and Quatre pinned his ears. He hated being called squirt, he hated being reminded of his small stature. Tossing her head with a hearty laugh, Hilde gave a half rear and lunged forward towards him. Quatre bolted to the side and then swung around, meeting his adopted sister as she began to bounce her rear at him. However, when he moved at the last moment, he had put them too close for her to get a good kick in. With a squeal, she thrust her hind leg out, catching him in the hock. Quatre staggered away, one eye squinting shut with pain.

::Hilde!:: Iria gasped as she uncocked her hip and began to walk towards them. When she pinned her ears back in a silent gesture of scolding, her daughter lowered her head, her own ears lowered in submission as her mother approached.

::I'm sorry, Mama, Quatre…:: she said. She had been lectured time and again about striking out at legs or joints, had been warned about the dangers of those injuries and how long they took to heal. Quatre, taking the opportunity for sympathy, kept the hind leg up.

::Quatre,:: Iria reprimanded gently. She watched as he lowered his leg, but brought it back up to rest the toe of his hoof to the ground.

::Sorry,:: he apologized. ::But it does really hurt.:: Once again, he pinned his ears to his sister, who continued to stand with her head down, her ears still held low in submission. Iria took a step closer to reassure her foals when the baying of a hound broke the peace of the night. Three heads shot up, the whites of eyes gleaming with the silver light of the moon.

::Run,:: Iria said, the cold dread reaching out to them in the mind link. ::Hilde, Quatre, run, it's hunters!::

::Mama?:: Hilde asked, taking an uncertain step towards the older unicorn. For a moment, Iria was revisited with the terror of the loss of her own mother. Such fear Quatrine must have felt, with Quatre, newborn and weak and hidden in the thick grass as she was pounced upon unsuspectingly. She had led the hunters away while Iria and Hilde stood in the shadows, helpless to do anything but watch. The humans had fallen upon her so quickly, and she begged Iria to watch herself and the children. They had to survive, she made her daughter promise. Iria had lowered her head, not wanting to watch the final act, but holding her mother's eyes as the last line of comfort before the light went out in them. The attack had been so fast, there had been so much blood, so much pain.

::RUN!:: Iria cried out, rearing towards her daughter and adopted son. Hilde reared in return and spun, running to Quatre who only looked at Iria in fear, and she, too, realized why he wasn't moving.

::Quatre… your leg…::

::Go!:: he tossed his head. ::We won't be far behind you.:: He turned and touched muzzles with Hilde who held regret in her eyes for the first time in her life.

::Hilde… you must go,:: he said gently.

::Forgive me, Quatre,:: she whispered. ::Forgive me…::

::Go,:: he said gently, nuzzling her before limping forward to herd her towards her mother if that was what it took to get her moving. ::I'll be alright, you must go!::

A hound bayed, perhaps the first one they heard. It was closer now. Iria leapt forward, darting through the underbrush with her daughter behind her. Hilde stopped once, turning to look at her brother over her shoulder once more, her eyes pleading.

I forgive you, Quatre's eyes answered her back. She lowered her head, and then slowly turned forward, where she galloped behind her mother.

Once they were out of the range of the mind link, Quatre lowered his head. This really hurts, he thought to himself as he put his hoof on the ground and applied weight. He let out a soft grunt, and the hounds began to bay with earnest. Pricking his ears forward, Quatre curiously waited to see what would come out from the overgrown undergrowth. For humans, they were good, the only things really making sounds were their hunting dogs.

Time began to slowly stretch out, if it meant anything at all to the unicorn. He tilted his head slightly, small snowy ears still perked forward. Above him, a night bird called, and then burst from the boughs above him. It obviously saw what he couldn't yet. He stretched his neck cautiously forward, his nostrils flared as he scented the area. Bushes were rustling, the dogs had picked up their scents. Closer now they came, he could smell the distinct scents of two humans. Two bedraggled hounds burst out of a large patch of ferns, baying and bristling as they found their quarry. Quatre lowered his head, and a moment later, an arrow sliced through the night, striking the tree next to him with a sound of thunder.

Not yet… not yet… don't lead them away yet… just a little clos—pain blossomed in his chest, just at the junction of the right shoulder, and he let out a terrible low cry of pain. Staggering, his blood dripping from the wound, Quatre began to back away, limping on his hind right as the kick inflicted wound throbbed. Hilde had hit him just right. He forgave her.

One of the humans let out a war cry, jumping into the air with his fists pumping madly. Even through the pain, Quatre could only stare at him with a morbid sense of curiosity. So these were humans. The last one he had seen had been ten years ago, that child who had walked along the road with his wagon. Could this be him?

No, he thought to himself. These are much older.

"Get the rope! Get the rope!" the larger of the two began to cry out. Quatre groaned as he backed away. He tossed his head and regretted it, the arrow wound pulling at his chest, and then turned. He ran as hard as he dared through the underbrush, darting between trees as the dogs gave chase. If only they would stop barking.

Traitors! he called out to the curs.

His breath was coming in short, hot gasps, and he was growing frustrated. One dog would chase behind him, but the other one was steering him. He tried not to panic, but to get away, try to find a place to hide. The road was coming up on his right, the road that he and his family had crossed before Quatre and Hilde had decided to spar. This was good news for the girls, though; the further he got from them, the better. If he had to die, he wished to ensure their safety.

A nip to his heel caused him to rear and buck in mid stride, and he felt the meaty crunch of the dog's head as the hoof made home its blow. The dog yelped, rolled and lie dead on the forest floor. Quatre felt a flood of relief mixed with sorrow. I'm sorry… but I don't want to die…

The road was now a few feet away, smooth and even, and he eyed it with dread as the sound of approaching hoof beats reached his ears. Two worn, weary horses were now flanking him, the corners of their mouths pulled back painfully as the reins were held back with the iron grips of poor riders. The two men had no mercy as they continued to spur the poor beasts on, and Quatre had compassion on them for the way they rolled their eyes into their heads. So focused on the two miserable horses, he wasn't aware of the rope as it went over his head, not until it was pulled taut. His feet went out from under him before he landed hard on his side with a loud groan, his body skidding along the smooth, dirt road. The shaft of the arrow snapped in two with the hard contact to the ground, and Quatre trembled in fear and pain. He lifted his head once and was choked as the larger of the men snatched the rope back.

"Oh no you don't!" he declared in victory. "Johnathon!"

"Yes, Michael?" Johnathon grinned as he pulled his nag up to Quatre.

"I believe we are going to be very rich men."

"I believe you are right!"

Quatre lowered his head, his mouth opened as he fought for precious air. Steam shuddered weakly out of his nostrils in the cool of the early morning, his feet kicking lightly. What was it that old Keeper had told him once? That had been so long ago, a forever ago it felt like. He felt it was important to grasp the memory, something in his heart told him that it could save his life. He closed his eyes, dragging the memory up by force and then relaxed.

Son, if man ever catches you, you shift your form to something they don't like, the Keeper had warned. Quatre had gazed up to him curiously.

What is it that they don't like? He was naïve to the ways of humans. They were more a passing curiosity to him. They had killed his mother and so he had no desire to ever be in their paths.

Themselves the Keeper had answered. Man seems to abhor himself more than anything, it seems.

Themselves.

With the last remaining bit of strength, Quatre focused as hard as he could. He didn't have much time, the men were approaching him, leering and laughing. He felt warmth spread through his body, but it was gone as soon as he let out a gasp and then pulled in a long whoop of fresh air. Michael had released the tight grip the rope held on his neck.

"Did you… did you see that?" Johnathon asked in surprise at the faint shimmer of light that had emanated from Quatre. He pointed a grubby finger at the pitiful creature sprawled on the ground at his feet.

"I did," Michael frowned. He squatted down slowly, one knee popping loudly.

Quatre trembled again, and once more, focused as hard as he could. Again, the warmth began to spread through his body, but he lost the concentration when he felt a hand grip his mane. Opening his eye, he rolled it back, moaning when he saw the knife. Michael was grinning and speaking, but with his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he couldn't understand what was being said. As the sharp blade sliced through his long, heavy mane, Quatre panicked and forced with all his might, and with the last ounce of his strength, shifted beneath a blinding light.

Michael cried out, his trophy, the handful of mane, was still clutched tightly in his hand as he staggered away from the odd spectacle before him. When the light died down, both men surged forward, sure their prize would shake the rope away from its elegant neck, rise and dart away. What they didn't expect to see was a youth, naked and wounded, lying at their feet.

"No…" Michael moaned, and then looked at the mane in his hand with wonder. He cut his eyes back to Quatre. "No…"

"Michael?" Johnathon shifted nervously and then looked around, licking his lips as his adrenaline rush began to fade. "It… we caught us a unicorn, right, Michael?"

"We did," Michael growled, shoving the mane beneath his friends' nose. "The sneaky bastard shifted his form on us!" Turning, he directed his growing rage towards the slender body at his feet. "That's not fair!" he cried out, and then began to stomp as hard as he could.

The last thing Quatre felt, before blessed unconsciousness claimed him, was agonizing pain.

Humans are bad. his mind groaned before darkness took him.