After the Whistler had finished her long heartbreaking story, the two
unicorns walked together in complete silence. The night was dark and
silent, but soon the unicorn could hear the familiar sound of the waterfall
in the large glade at the center of her forest.
The unicorn always found peace by the waterfall, even when there was a terrible storm or a controversy between animals, she would seek refuge in the wildflower-covered meadow.
Yet as they reached the end of the path, the unicorn discovered the Whistler was not the only unicorn that had returned to the forest. A Glory of unicorns rested in the meadow, some sleeping, others talking in small groups. Yet when they sensed the presence of the others, the all stopped what they were doing and looked over at the two newcomers.
Their gaze was harsh and cruel, like the Whistlers was when she first laid eyes on the unicorn. She knew they saw them as two mortals. A large silvery unicorn with a short white mane stepped up to the two unicorns. His horn was long and glistened in the starlight like a gem.
"Whistler," he began, his voice was like a small stream, water racing over tiny rocks and boulders on its long journey to the ocean. "You know you are not welcome here. And now you come with another, a mortal."
"She is only partly mortal, and since when were you leader of this herd?" snapped the Whistler angrily.
The unicorn bent her head down in shame; the Whistler was so rude and arrogant, completely unlike a regular unicorn. "Forgive my friend's rudeness," she said calmly and smoothly, "but why do you, noble unicorn, not accept mortal unicorns?"
"Dear sister," said the male unicorn, "We are wary and tired from our days in the sea, and mortals such as the Whistler bring strong magic of their own, magic stronger and more frightening than that of a dragon. She brings the sense of death."
The unicorn remembered that when the magician had unwittingly turned her into a full mortal girl, how she had simply felt her body dying with time. Death was the only thing the unicorns were afraid of, and the Red Bull.
"You also bring death," said the male, "We must ask you to leave, please, leave the forest."
"You don't control the forest, this is her forest!" shouted the Whistler nudging her new friend fiercely.
The unicorn looked around. All the others were advancing in on them; she knew they would have to leave. Whether simply walking away or being forced, they would leave the forest, the only place she called home.
She turned around and began walking down the path the other way. "No, Unicorn!" shouted the Whistler, "We can't leave, they can't make us, stay here!"
The unicorn turned to face the Whistler. She was shaking fiercely with rage and the other unicorns were still advancing on them. "If we stay, they'll be hunting us for the rest of our lives trying to get us out of the forest." She said calmly, "I want to go somewhere where I am welcome."
As the unicorn continued walking down the pathway, she heard the Whistler racing up behind her, cloven hooves banging on the ground. Listening to the carelessness of her friend, the unicorn wondered: 'Was the Whistler always like this? Did mortality change her and make her forget the ways of the unicorns?'
As they reached the edge of the forest, the Whistler looked around her at the small farmlands and rolling hills of the mortal world. "Where will we go now? Will we live on farms disguised as two white mares? We'd be welcome there!"
The unicorn winced at the Whistler's sarcasm. Then, after a short while, she said softly, almost in a whisper, "I thought we'd go to the Royal Sunrise."
The unicorn always found peace by the waterfall, even when there was a terrible storm or a controversy between animals, she would seek refuge in the wildflower-covered meadow.
Yet as they reached the end of the path, the unicorn discovered the Whistler was not the only unicorn that had returned to the forest. A Glory of unicorns rested in the meadow, some sleeping, others talking in small groups. Yet when they sensed the presence of the others, the all stopped what they were doing and looked over at the two newcomers.
Their gaze was harsh and cruel, like the Whistlers was when she first laid eyes on the unicorn. She knew they saw them as two mortals. A large silvery unicorn with a short white mane stepped up to the two unicorns. His horn was long and glistened in the starlight like a gem.
"Whistler," he began, his voice was like a small stream, water racing over tiny rocks and boulders on its long journey to the ocean. "You know you are not welcome here. And now you come with another, a mortal."
"She is only partly mortal, and since when were you leader of this herd?" snapped the Whistler angrily.
The unicorn bent her head down in shame; the Whistler was so rude and arrogant, completely unlike a regular unicorn. "Forgive my friend's rudeness," she said calmly and smoothly, "but why do you, noble unicorn, not accept mortal unicorns?"
"Dear sister," said the male unicorn, "We are wary and tired from our days in the sea, and mortals such as the Whistler bring strong magic of their own, magic stronger and more frightening than that of a dragon. She brings the sense of death."
The unicorn remembered that when the magician had unwittingly turned her into a full mortal girl, how she had simply felt her body dying with time. Death was the only thing the unicorns were afraid of, and the Red Bull.
"You also bring death," said the male, "We must ask you to leave, please, leave the forest."
"You don't control the forest, this is her forest!" shouted the Whistler nudging her new friend fiercely.
The unicorn looked around. All the others were advancing in on them; she knew they would have to leave. Whether simply walking away or being forced, they would leave the forest, the only place she called home.
She turned around and began walking down the path the other way. "No, Unicorn!" shouted the Whistler, "We can't leave, they can't make us, stay here!"
The unicorn turned to face the Whistler. She was shaking fiercely with rage and the other unicorns were still advancing on them. "If we stay, they'll be hunting us for the rest of our lives trying to get us out of the forest." She said calmly, "I want to go somewhere where I am welcome."
As the unicorn continued walking down the pathway, she heard the Whistler racing up behind her, cloven hooves banging on the ground. Listening to the carelessness of her friend, the unicorn wondered: 'Was the Whistler always like this? Did mortality change her and make her forget the ways of the unicorns?'
As they reached the edge of the forest, the Whistler looked around her at the small farmlands and rolling hills of the mortal world. "Where will we go now? Will we live on farms disguised as two white mares? We'd be welcome there!"
The unicorn winced at the Whistler's sarcasm. Then, after a short while, she said softly, almost in a whisper, "I thought we'd go to the Royal Sunrise."
