Book 2: New Life, Old Life
Part 7
Night
With careful steps the unicorn moved silently down the loose embankment. The camp below him seemed deserted, but he knew better. There was a human here somewhere, most likely asleep, but not necessarily so. He must be cautious, quiet. As much as he craved the prospect of company, the sight of a camp brought back painful memories of capture . . . and worse. He had not always been the only one of his kind. Once the globe had been filled with his brothers and sisters, but mortal creatures were drawn to the immortal, some for peaceful reasons, others not. Humans had killed more of his siblings than he cared to recall, and, lonely or not, he did not wish to carry his species into extinction.
Moving lightly across the sand he peaked a nose into the larger tent. This place smelled of a human, but not strongly enough for him to still be inside. The twin flaps were held together by a series of knotted strings, and though he was intrigued by the many pungent odors wafting from this tent, his immediate attention was focused on finding this human.
The smaller tent was constructed much like the first, thick strings securing the flaps, but a cursory whiff told him this tent was occupied. Very slowly he took each bit of rope between his teeth, tugging ever so gently to loosen the knot without ruffling the wall of canvas. Starting at the bottom, with frequent pauses to listen for movement from within, he gradually worked his way up to his own height.
Finally, the door was open far enough to admit a tentative snout, followed cautiously by the rest of the large white head.
The human was asleep in the far corner, lying near the ground in a tangle of blankets. His face was turned away from the door, allowing blue eyes to glimpse only a slight curve of cheek and straight brown hair. The unicorn froze, both to make sure the human didn't wake, and in confusion at the flood of conflicting emotions roaring just under his velvety skin. He was suddenly ecstatic, terrified, hopeful, and horribly lonely. He desperately wanted to run over and wake this human, to have another soul to talk to, to ease this cutting, aching loneliness, but he was frozen to the spot with fear. What if this human were cruel? What if he had come as a hunter or trapper? What if . . . he wasn't there at all, and all this was just a cruel joke of his own imagination? What if his loneliness had finally driven him crazy? He wasn't sure if immortals could go insane. Mental illness might be as impossible for a unicorn as physical illness, yet-after all this time-he truly didn't trust himself enough to be sure.
The moment of indecision ebbed and he took a silent step forward. This was not the way to meet this human, sneaking around in the darkness. Scanning the room in the limited moonlight seeping through the canvas, he spied a set of clothes folded in a chair. Moving slowly, with one eye always on the sleeping human, he made his way to the chair and took the corners of the clothes in his teeth. He then turned and left as silently as he'd come, leaving the door hanging loose behind him, drifting ever so slightly in the desert breeze.
Night
With careful steps the unicorn moved silently down the loose embankment. The camp below him seemed deserted, but he knew better. There was a human here somewhere, most likely asleep, but not necessarily so. He must be cautious, quiet. As much as he craved the prospect of company, the sight of a camp brought back painful memories of capture . . . and worse. He had not always been the only one of his kind. Once the globe had been filled with his brothers and sisters, but mortal creatures were drawn to the immortal, some for peaceful reasons, others not. Humans had killed more of his siblings than he cared to recall, and, lonely or not, he did not wish to carry his species into extinction.
Moving lightly across the sand he peaked a nose into the larger tent. This place smelled of a human, but not strongly enough for him to still be inside. The twin flaps were held together by a series of knotted strings, and though he was intrigued by the many pungent odors wafting from this tent, his immediate attention was focused on finding this human.
The smaller tent was constructed much like the first, thick strings securing the flaps, but a cursory whiff told him this tent was occupied. Very slowly he took each bit of rope between his teeth, tugging ever so gently to loosen the knot without ruffling the wall of canvas. Starting at the bottom, with frequent pauses to listen for movement from within, he gradually worked his way up to his own height.
Finally, the door was open far enough to admit a tentative snout, followed cautiously by the rest of the large white head.
The human was asleep in the far corner, lying near the ground in a tangle of blankets. His face was turned away from the door, allowing blue eyes to glimpse only a slight curve of cheek and straight brown hair. The unicorn froze, both to make sure the human didn't wake, and in confusion at the flood of conflicting emotions roaring just under his velvety skin. He was suddenly ecstatic, terrified, hopeful, and horribly lonely. He desperately wanted to run over and wake this human, to have another soul to talk to, to ease this cutting, aching loneliness, but he was frozen to the spot with fear. What if this human were cruel? What if he had come as a hunter or trapper? What if . . . he wasn't there at all, and all this was just a cruel joke of his own imagination? What if his loneliness had finally driven him crazy? He wasn't sure if immortals could go insane. Mental illness might be as impossible for a unicorn as physical illness, yet-after all this time-he truly didn't trust himself enough to be sure.
The moment of indecision ebbed and he took a silent step forward. This was not the way to meet this human, sneaking around in the darkness. Scanning the room in the limited moonlight seeping through the canvas, he spied a set of clothes folded in a chair. Moving slowly, with one eye always on the sleeping human, he made his way to the chair and took the corners of the clothes in his teeth. He then turned and left as silently as he'd come, leaving the door hanging loose behind him, drifting ever so slightly in the desert breeze.