While plenty of people question the wisdom of Roland Deschain's obsessive and eternal quest for the Dark Tower, few fail to understand the urge that drives him toward it. There is a certain transcendent magnetism woven into the fabric of monolithic structures and, as our primitive ancestors trembled in awe as lightning struck the mountaintops, so too did Martin feel the weight and significance of the Dawn Court even before he had a name to call it.
He stood before the Court's weathered stone walls, blue eyes tracing the inexorable upward creep of vines along its surface. His tail switched across his flanks at a slow, metronomic tempo.
There were ghosts inside that masonry, he thought.
A splash nearby interrupted the budding introspection before it could properly take root. Martin's head and attention snapped away from the castle as one, pausing only to weigh curiosity against caution before treading softly toward the source of the disturbance. This land had as yet offered him no reason to expect danger, but the unicorn was not about to walk straight down a dragon's throat like a lamb to slaughter.
What he found was definitely no dragon, but rather someone not entirely unlike himself, staring intensely into a puddle of water as though straining to wrest the (undoubtedly numerous) secrets from its depths. A stippled path of wet hoofprints and the damp-dark of his ruddy hide betrayed him.
Tilting his head quizzically, Martin intruded softly, "Pardon; do you know what this place is?"
And why, the young stallion offered only to himself, did he feel like he belonged here?
@Rostislav - please excuse this post written entirely on my phone ^^;
