 There is a full moon blazing overhead when Charlemagne reaches the edge of the sea. Because he had begun his journey (his adventure, as he preferred to think of it) beneath the shuttered eye of a new moon, he considered this an auspicious sign. If he knew he was already within the borders of Novus, he’d be even more certain of it - but the young unicorn is still unaware that his searching, for the most part, is done. Even unaware, there’s still a current of excitement running through him, and it becomes a full-throated cry in his blood when he sees the line of silver like a glittering path on the water. With a kick of his heels he is away, racing his heartbeat down to the waves, where the pounding of his hooves is lost in the rush and murmur of sea on sand. The tide tugs at him and he leaps back, laughing, and everything is fine and magic there in the salt-spray. It isn’t until much later, when he’s resting tangle-haired and tired in the hollow of a dune, that his loneliness sets in again like an ache. The moon is setting, now, and Charlemagne watches it go and wonders how long it’s been since he spoke to another of his kind. He’d left in secret, with a goodbye only for Erol, and avoided what roads and equines he could until he was well beyond the borders of his people. Beyond there, there were few people to meet: his kingdom had earned a reputation as conquerers both greedy and proud, and few risked crossing their land. He had thought himself a brave colt and stoic, but weeks with no companionship but birds and squirrels, clouds and rain, was teaching him differently. Now, under the cold, silver beginnings of dawn, he thinks on his sparring partners with something like longing. They’d only had insults for him, sure, but at least it counted as conversation. Charlemagne lets his thoughts run away with him, down a path dark and doubtful, until the sea-birds raise a raucous cry. The unicorn stills, turns his slender head, and watches the gulls scatter and scold. There is another coming down the beach, colored pearl and rose in the growing dawn. The unicorn scrambles to his feet, scattering sand like gold dust, and simply stares until the stranger is close enough to make out the color of their eyes. Only then does he find his voice - but it is a rough thing, caked in sea-salt and miles of dust. “Hello!” he cries, softer and less sure than the gulls. “Oh, can you tell me where I am?” |
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