The unicorn is the stallion, the glade dark with greens, the glowing velvet of lush growth at its peak. The unicorn is fruit ripening on the bough and the scent of the wood, the musk of power.
He is alone, diamond chips his glinting eyes and his horn polished bone, the first spiral – nothing like any mortal material, nothing like the bone of any other life. Magic and dust, ash and fire twisted into breathing shape, he is the powers of the world given form
Then, a stamping hoof. A flash of gold and the spark among the green, beautiful and deadly as the wildfire. He vanishes.
We’ll not see him again.
Image Credit: Rubis Firenos
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