 He knows, now, where he is. And though he is weary from worry and travel, though he’s caked in road dust and sweat and now sea-brine, too, there is nothing now that could dampen his mood. He is home (or near enough, according to Florentine) and it is beginning. Even so, he is not ready to present himself to the Dawn Court yet. His hair a wild, salt-stiff tangle, his tail a briar-patch, even his horn dulled by weeks of wandering - ah! it was unbearable to think of making his first appearance so. He was to be a scholar, not a hedge-witch, and so he would stay until he looked the part. Of course, that proved difficult whilst standing on a beach, and the wind was intent on working against him. He’d barely begun to comb through his dark coat when a particularly large gust dusted him with sand and he decided the task was best done elsewhere. With a whicker he began picking his way up the beach, searching for the trail that had led him to it. Before he found it, he found the unicorn. The stallion was the very picture of one, all lean muscle, head high, bathed gold and cream in the sun. Charlemagne fell still for a moment, and something like jealousy shadowed his joy like a passing cloud. Here, indeed, was a stallion that would make his father proud, and the chestnut considers turning away and finding some other way back up to the plains. His gaze skirts out to see and snags on something, pale and large, that was also watching the golden unicorn. Charlemagne’s brow furrows, green eyes squinting, but with the glare of the sun and the sparkle on the water it’s hard to be sure what he sees. Were those ears? A trailing mane? Were there horse-eating kelpies here? If there were, surely the young stallion could defend himself. But as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Charlemagne tosses his head, willing it away. He was not home any more, to hide away among the scrolls. Beneath the scolding of the gulls and the susurrus of the waves he lopes forward, stopping just out of reach of all but the white foam of the sea. “Excuse me,” he says, dipping his own golden horn, “but there’s something watching you.” Never mind that Charlemagne had been watching, too; he was certainly not going to be eating anybody. |
image © unsplash
@Martin @Pan
