FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

At the very edge of lands called civilized there lies a tiny town. None have ever bothered to name it. It is simply "the town," the only settlement of humankind for a hundred leagues around. Travelers say that the people who live there are strange folk, oddly touched with magic, and the townsfolk might well agree. But the people of that town do not say where the magic comes from. They all know, and any who linger among them will eventually hear rumor of the true source, for the source of the strange magic of that place lies not in the tow itself but among the two peaks that rise above the town, in a little valley cradled between them.

But any stranger wanting to go and see the source of such wonders would be warned off. The valley and the wood that lie between the peaks are perilous, the townsfolk would say. Many who go more than a few hours' walk into that forest never return.

The stranger so informed might ask what fearsome danger is it that guards that valley. But the townsfolk would only smile and go their way. They do not speak of it to any but their own. They know that to tell such visitors the truth would only doom them, for any that heard would surely disbelieve the danger, and seek out the guardians of the forest, in spite of any warning.

Rarely a stranger may visit the little town and stay. Most who pass through find the elusive magic of the place unsettling, disturbing. Some few, however, feel at home there, the magic of the place calling to them with siren voice. And so they leave behind whatever lives they knew back in civilized lands and stay.

But this is not their story.

---

This is the tale of one who lived beyond the bounds of streets and houses. Who roamed the high, narrow valley cradled between the nameless peaks. Who ran through the woods with her kin, her fellow guardians.

For beyond the fringes of the wood, where a bold woodcutter might cautiously venture only a little ways, far up the course of the swift-running stream that flowed down the valley, high in the woods that lay above the town, the unicorns ran.

They were the unspoken peril the townsmen warned of. White and shining and pure they were, nonetheless, deadlier to imperfect humans than the most terrible dragon, the fiercest gryphon. For to gaze upon a unicorn is to risk losing your soul. Not through any spell, nor any evil pact, but simply through the nature of unicorns. They are beings of beauty and grace so great that no other creature can compare. Those who venture into their valley often fail to return, not because of the trampling of unicorn's hooves, nor the sharpness of their horns, though they are sharp indeed, but because of the danger of their grace. The human being who lays eyes on a unicorn can think of nothing else. Wishing to behold that beauty always, they follow the herd, neglecting food, and drink, and sleep, until at last they perish, wasted away. Their bones lie on the forest floor, soon covered in moss. The strong-willed and those who have other great loves in their life may save themselves from this fate, but few indeed are those with the strength to resist the unicorns' grace. And though the unicorns regret such deaths, they know well that they are safer thus.

For there are those few men whose souls are already lost to greed and selfishness who, when they see a unicorn, want not merely to gaze upon, but to possess such beauty. And a unicorn held captive will waste away and die as surely as the humans who forget hunger and thirst in their rapture of beauty. So, though they mourn those foolish few who come among them, the unicorns do nothing to save them. For they know well that if the civilized world knew of their presence in the valley they would not long be safe.

---

But intrusions of any kind were rare, and such gloomy thoughts were far from the minds of the herd as they moved through the forest. It was high summer, and a score and five unicorns ran along the valley floor, leaping joyously over the stream that paced them as it meandered back and forth across their path. Twelve mated pairs they were, immortals nearly as old as the valley itself, plus one, very young as unicorns count time, a single filly who ran amid the herd and was loved by all.

She had no name save "youngest," for though a human might be hard pressed to tell the herd apart, each one in near-identical shades of white, silver, ice-blue and pale gold, her herd-mates knew her easily, newcomer among ancients. Someday another unicorn might be born to the herd, and then she would be given a new name, or else she might do something unique enough to warrant a naming. But any such events were many years in the future, her parents told her, for she was yet a child, and unicorns bear seldom and grow slowly.

She sometimes shook her mane and snorted when her parents said such things to her, for she stood now as tall as any mare in the herd, and her horn was as well-grown. She thought herself old enough for naming, but in truth she didn't know what name to take. And as unicorns, even young ones, seldom argue among themselves, she said nothing in reply. But it is perhaps a universal among all intelligent species that the nearly adult often wish adulthood sooner than their elders wish to grant it, and it is so even among unicorns. So the young mare often wandered away from the herd, seeking something that she didn't quite understand, only knowing that she wished to be alone, to think her own thoughts and not the thoughts of her parents.

She was the indulged darling of the herd, and though many wished to keep her close, to protect her, they had wisdom enough to realize that such guardianship would be both unneeded and unwelcome, so they let her wander. There was, after all, little danger in their valley. Only in the hardest of winters would a mountain cat or a wolf attack a unicorn, and even then such an attack would be met with sharp horn and hard hooves. The unicorns were not warriors, but their gentleness did not extend to letting themselves become an easy meal.

She moved now amid the herd, bounding through the forest to a grassy meadow where they often grazed together. She caught a glimpse of a tawny flash as she ran, a mountain cat moving swiftly among the greenery, and recalled a deep winter fight in which she had joined her parents some years past. The herd ran on, taking no notice of the great cat, which would much prefer the easier caught deer than the wary and well armed unicorns. But thoughts of battle and adventure filled the young mare's mind, and she had a sudden urge to see and do something new. So she made her way to the edge of the herd and turned aside, running swiftly through the forest.

Her parents gazed after her, but continued their way. They knew better than to try and stop their daughter's explorations. Indeed there was already some quiet talk among the herd of naming the young mare "Far-Wandering," though all had been careful to keep any rumor of it from her ears.

The young mare raced through the woods, choosing a path that led uphill, up towards one distantly towering mountain that sheltered the valley. She suddenly knew where she wished to go.

An hour's steady uphill run brought her to a place where the forest opened up into a huge, high meadow. A broad shelf just below where the mountain began to rise in earnest held a field filled with sunflowers. The young unicorn came here often, grazing on the tender flowers and looking out over the valley from a lofty viewpoint. Indeed from where she stood she could just glimpse the open meadow where the herd now grazed, tiny white forms showing brightly against the emerald grass. She had grazed with them already that morning, so she only paused to take a few mouthfuls of green and yellow before moving on. She felt a hunger within her, but it was not one to be satisfied with food. She wanted something else, something she knew not what. But whatever it was, she had not found it in the valley. Perhaps it might be found further up the mountain's slope.

On the far side of the sunflower meadow, the trees began again, but here they were rooted irregularly, finding places among great boulders, with sharp, angled faces of rock rising up above them, so that the roots of some of them were level with the tops of their nearest neighbors. Only pines and aspens grew here, the oaks and maples and other tress of the valley did not love these heights.

Amid the flickering of aspen leaves that flashed their silvery undersides in every faint breeze the mare began to climb.

At first the going was fairly easy. The slope was steep and strewn with rocks, but there were patches of soil as well, from which the aspens grew, and in which her dainty cloven hooves found easy purchase. She passed beneath the deep green shadow of a cluster of pine trees, and her footfalls were silent on the heap of needles beneath them. Her course zig-zagged back and forth across the slope, finding the easiest way. But as she climbed the trees grew fewer and fewer, and the gentle breezes that caused the aspen leaves to flutter and flash gusted stronger, becoming true winds. Soon there were no more soft patches of soil, and her hooves clanged and clopped on rock as she scrambled from boulder to boulder, amid mostly pines now, that were becoming increasingly sparse and stunted.

The sun climbed towards noon as she labored upwards, her original nameless desire lost in the climb itself, her only thought now to reach as high as she could. She was no longer amid forest. The aspens were gone, and the only pines were spindly things, bent by the wind that moaned and howled among the rocks, the twisted trees clinging to cracks and crevices where they could.

And then the trees gave way completely, and she entered a world of wind and stone. He progress slowed to a crawl as she moved with care, her hooves sure but her breathing labored, her sides heaving with the effort as she levered herself up, leaping at times from one rocky foothold to another and at other times scrambling amid scree that slipped beneath her hooves, threatening to sweep her down the mountainside, the laughing, whistling wind tugging at her, eager to assist her fall.

At last she made one final leap, landing on a broad ledge of barren stone overlooking the valley below. Above it a sheer cliff face towered, below a second cliff dropped away nearly to the tree line that she had long since left behind. Only behind her did a precarious trail lead downwards. She stood there, the heaving of her sides slowly easing as she caught her breath. Gradually the mindless state of concentration induced by her long climb faded, and she thought again of the hunger that had driven her to seek this hight. She had climbed as far as she could, but there was nothing here. She didn't know what she had expected, but this was not it.

"And yet is is beautiful," she murmured softly to herself as she looked down and down and down to her home below her. The mountain across the way towered upwards, though it seemed smaller, there on the far side of the valley, than the peak on which she stood. The stream that ran along the valley floor glinted here and there, though the trees mostly hid it. A small lake showed further up the valley, and a waterfall where the stream poured in at the valley's head. She smiled, remembering swimming in the pool at the waterfall's foot when she was but a foal, scarce five summers grown. Beyond the head of the valley a land of broken hills and canyons stretched, misty with distance, to the far horizon. She had heard from one of the older unicorns that dragons lived there, and dwarves, and many other strange creatures.

Opposite that desolate vista, the foot of the valley showed green, the stream emerging from the forest and running amid the unnaturally regular patchwork of tended fields, and she could just glimpse the strange, distant shape of the human town there. Perhaps, if her restless hunger could not be satisfied in the valley nor on the mountain, she might venture forth into the world of men, though she knew enough of humans to know that she might well die should she choose that course. Or perhaps she might climb the cliffs by the waterfall and explore the broken lands beyond. That would likely be the safer path, despite the peril of dragons.

As she turned again to look at that desolate country, she heard a cry from above. It had in it something of the eagle's shriek, and something of the mountain cat's roar. She looked up, and saw a winged form in the air, almost directly overhead, gliding on outstretched wings across the sky towards the distant hills and canyons. The wings were broad, the parchment colored membrane of the underside veined with pink. The muscular body was vivid emerald green, a long, limber tail trailing behind. A snake-like neck twisted around as it flew overhead, and a horn-crowned head peered down at her as it passed. She caught a glimpse of ruby red eyes, startling against the green.

Then it turned, wheeling in the air to circle above. The circles became a downward spiral, and the mare pressed herself back against the chill rock wall, trembling half in excitement, half in fear, as the dragon landed on the ledge before her.

---

They faced each other in silence for a long moment, each standing still, gazing at the other. The unicorn stood stark against the dark gray granite, her coat the color of a winter glacier, piercingly white but with subtle shadows of blue and green, her mane the white of a summer blossom, touched faintly with the gold and pink found at the hearts of certain flowers. Her horn the color of the finest pearl, shining white and splendid, reflecting mutedly the hues of everything around her, and her tiny delicate hooves matching it, though dulled ever so slightly by the dust from her long climb. Her eyes were the clear blue of the sky on a warm spring day, cool and yet warmed by the sun's golden light. Her long tail twitched with a graceful nervousness, the plume at its tip swishing back and forth.

The dragon was framed against the deep blue sky behind it, the sunlight streaming down from above glinting off scales like emeralds. Its folded wings were emerald hued on the backs, the pleated membranes only showing their soft pink beneath. Its chest was the pale green of new leaves, while its back was the color of pine needles, the shades of green blending in every hue in between along its sides. Its long tail behind was tipped with a leaf-shaped spade, and the short, curved horns atop its head were the black of polished onyx, as were the long, sharp claws that adorned both forefeet and hind. And the narrow, reptilian snout was lined with teeth the color of old ivory, a startling red tongue visible between them. It was large, though not gigantic; the length of sinuous neck and tail adding to a body that bulked perhaps twice the unicorn's.

Its eyes, deep pure crimson, were huge, the pupils black slits. It blinked once, but otherwise its gaze was firmly fixed on the mare, and she shivered at the intensity of it.

For a very long time the only sound was the whistle of the wind, and then the dragon spoke, its voice surprisingly musical and soft.

"How is it that I sense no aura of spell-casting about you?" it said quietly, in a tone of curious wonder. "How is it that you seem to be no wizard nor mage, and yet have ensorcelled me thus? I had heard it said that unicorns were perilous. I see now that they are more perilous than I ever knew. And more beautiful also."

The mare stared a moment more, then lowered her head. She knew now why the dragon had landed before her, and knew also that she did not need to fear it. She sighed softly. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to snare you so. Had I known..."

"But you didn't." The dragon shook its head. "You didn't know I would chance to fly over and glance down."

"I didn't even know that a unicorn's magic could enchant a dragon. I have never heard of one being enchanted thus."

The dragon smiled, showing a bit more of the ivory teeth. "I think perhaps a settled dragon would be able to combat it. When one has the lure of one's own hoard to draw one back home... But I have no hoard. And I have heard tales of humans who die of seeing a unicorn. I do not feel that I will die of this. Only..." it trailed off, staring at her again.

"Only what?" she asked, some of her sorrow lifting as she heard that she had not killed this strange, beautiful creature before her.

"Only... that it may yet be a long while before I fly from this spot, and that when I thus fly, I would wish to return often. If you will permit me, my lady."

"Lady?" The mare looked puzzled, her brow beneath her pearlescent horn furrowed.

The dragon chuckled softly. "A conceit of humans that we dragons occasionally emulate. A male human of a certain status, when there is a female he wishes to devote himself to, may often call her 'my lady' as a sign of such devotion. Forgive me if I offend."

She shook her head. "No. You don't offend. But I know little of humans, and less, I fear, of dragons. Perhaps you could tell me more of both."

The dragon smiled again, and settled itself on the ledge, curling its tail around it. "I would be happy to."

She lowered herself to the rocky shelf as well, but then got up again. The stone was chill, colder even than the whipping wind. Better that she stand.

The dragon got to its feet as well. "It's too cold here for you, isn't it? We should go down lower and talk there."

She nodded. "Yes. Though I'm afraid it will be a few hours before I can climb down again. I haven't got wings."

The dragon nodded, then stared at her again, with a thoughtful look. "Would you trust me to carry you, my lady? I am not large, as dragons go, and I do not think I could lift you far, but with the wind, and the height we have, I could glide with your weight, and bear you down quickly to lower ground. I would be careful. I have carried fragile things before, and I am certain I could do it without causing you harm."

The mare flicked her tail nervously, looking down at the drop below. To be born over such a space! She looked also at the polished onyx of the dragon's claws. Its hind claws were blunt and rounded, but the claws on the long-fingered, hand-like forepaws were needle sharp. Surely it couldn't carry her in those hands without harm! But...

She gazed again into the deep ruby eyes. There was only sincerity there, and the shining fascination of one who has seen a unicorn and can never be the same again.

She looked back at the sharp drop and the steep slope below. She had never thought of flight, in her wandering and searching, but now that the thought was there, she felt a sudden wild desire to know what it was like.

She turned her gaze once more at the dragon, her eyes shining, and nodded. "I trust you."

The dragon bowed its head and closed its eyes for a moment, a strange shudder going through it. "Thank you," it said softly. Then it rose on powerful hind legs, unfurling its wide wings as it stepped close to her. It reached out to her gently, wrapping its arms around her torso firmly, the long, sharp claws brushing her coat, resting against her without so much as pricking her skin. Its scales were surprisingly warm, the plates of its chest warming her chilled body as it picked her up with infinite care.

Then all at once it leapt into the air, powerful hind legs driving it out from the cliff, into space. The unicorn gasped in shock at the suddenness, but the strong grip of the dragon's hands never faltered as they soared out into empty air. They spiraled out over the the valley, and the wind blew in her mane and ruffled her tail-tip out behind her. She looked down at the forest below, exhilaration thrilling through her as they glided smoothly down. All too soon the trees were rushing up at them, and she let out a little involuntary squeal of alarm, as it seemed they might crash into them. Then just as they reached treetop level, a meadow opened up in front of them, and the dragon landed with a furious back-winging that ended in a jarring thump. It set her down amid a cluster of sunflowers, in a high meadow much like the one she had begun her climb from.

"My apologies for the rough landing, my lady," said the dragon, looking somewhat embarrassed. "I am unaccustomed to landing gently with such a burden, I'm afraid."

She shook her mane and swished her tail, the ground feeling strange beneath her hooves. "It's all right." Then she lowered herself gracefully to the ground and smiled up at the dragon. "Come, you were going to tell me about dragons, and humans, and other things not often found in this valley."

The dragon smiled. "Yes," it said, and settled to the ground nearby, folding one clawed hand over the other and curling its tail around it.

---

The pair spoke long, as the sun sank from zenith towards the horizon. The mare heard tales that made her head spin, of the strange ways of humans, of the lives of dragons, of the legends and histories and religions of both. Unicorns had few legends, little history, and no religion at all. They lived in an endless "now" with seldom a thought or care for the past. They did not doubt the reality of the gods, but they worshiped none of the them, and the rituals of other races were strange to the young mare. Strange but fascinating, as she heard of the many things men had done for love or for hate, for god or for king, for things that were alien to all she knew. Dragons were scarcely less strange, though she found them less frightening, their reasons alien but somehow comprehensible all the same. What a man might venture for king and god, a dragon ventured for its mate, or for the sheer love of the venture itself, or for status and the building of its hoard. They were fierce, and cunning, and fond of both direct battles and elaborate games, upon which they wagered their hoards of precious things.

"I had thought to place a beginner's wager soon, and try to build my hoard," said the dragon with a rueful smile. "But I fear that the desire is no longer strong in me, and my standing among the other dragons will be much reduced. They do not hold much, these days, with dealing with other races. Dragons deal only with dragons. It might be that they will refuse my wager, should they know of my visit here to your valley."

"I'm sorry," began the mare sadly.

"No! Don't be sorry," the dragon said. "You are beautiful beyond imagining. It is worth much, to see such beauty even once, and it seems... it seems you do not find my presence unbearable. It seems that you might allow me to return, and speak to you again, yes? That is worth all. I do not regret it."

The mare shook her head. "But it's only the magic, the nature of unicorns, that makes you feel that way. If you weren't already ensorcelled, you wouldn't wish to be bound to me so."

The dragon sighed softly, the red of his eyes intensified in the fading sunlight. He looked at her with an expression that she could not read, and then reached out one clawed hand to touch her. She froze, suddenly tense, nearly trembling and not sure why. His fine-scaled fingers brushed her cheek gently, the claws never so much as touching her. He let his hand fall and bowed his head then, and the mare was startled to see tears gathering on his cheeks.

"You can't know." He worked his long claws into the dirt, tearing up a hapless sunflower plant, though he didn't seem to notice it, his claws flexing and kneading the ground, expressing some intense, nameless emotion. "You are perfection, and have always been, you can't know what it is to utterly lack perfection, to know that you'll never have it, never see it. That anything good and clean will always be corrupted, that anything worth having will eventually be lost. You see your elders squabble over petty things. You find yourself being drawn into such squabbles. The very gods are in disarray because their followers can't agree, and they fight among themselves. Any harmony is temporary. Any peace will be broken. Any good will be spoiled. Always! And this is just the way things are, so you live with it. It's reality, and you can only hope to make it better, but never perfect, never perfect. And you look at those around you who might be your mates, and seek the one to be your match, but there is nobody who matches you. Those you think might love you betray you; even when they don't mean to, they hurt you. There is pain always within you, and emptiness that nothing can ever fill, because everything is finite and inadequate. That is what was in my heart, my lady.

"And then I saw you. And there was no more emptiness. There is only the reality of something that cannot be corrupted. Something that is harmony. That is peace. That is innocence and purity and perfection, and such beauty as I never thought to see, and by your very nature you can be nothing else, I feel that down to my bones. I know it. The instant I saw you I knew it, and I don't care if it dooms me. Even if I were like the humans, that seeing you lose all desire for life itself, I would chose to look again, even knowing. Even if I must fly away now and never see you again, the first sight of you would always be there, in that empty place, and I would know that perfection exists, even if I can lay no claim to it, to you. And beyond that! You trusted me! That such purity should trust me..."

Tears were streaming down his face now, hot and bright and red in the sunset light. "I know you don't understand. And I know I have no claim to you. You are a unicorn, you are beyond any claims of mine. But please, don't regret what you've done to me. You've given me something I thought impossible. I don't care what the cost is." He shuddered, his sudden flood of words coming to a halt. He looked down at his claws, noticing the deep furrows he'd dug, and the thoroughly shredded sunflower plant. He heaved a great sigh and set his head down on the ground wearily. "I'm sorry."

The mare stared at him. Then she got to her feet and crossed the short distance between them. She settled to the ground again next to his side, nearly touching, and stretched out her neck to nuzzle softly at his cheek. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "I probably don't completely understand. But maybe I do understand just a little bit. I don't think I'm quite perfection. I know unicorns are... different from other races. But we can have a space that needs filling within us as well. That's why I climbed the mountain, when my parents and all the others never have, not in a thousand years. There was something I was missing. Something... different. I know that a unicorn should not leave this valley. If I did, I would likely die. But perhaps perfection can't be perfection if it's closed in like that. The others remember before humans were so numerous. Before dragons, even, I think. They remember the world, and all the things in it. I never knew these things. But you have told me of them, brought them to me, in a way my parents' stories never could. I think that's what I was seeking all this time, because I no longer feel empty either. That space is filled with you. Perhaps like you can't have sunlight without shadows, you can't have unicorns without beings like you." She nuzzled him again, gently, and then shifted to rest trustingly against the warmth of his side, as the last light faded from the sky.

A shiver of emotion went through the dragon, and he closed his eyes again, and spread one wing to cover the unicorn, warming her against the chill as night settled around them and the stars began to come out. She could smell him, spice and sulfur and musk, strange but not unpleasant. He remained silent, only resting his snout against her neck, breathing in the faint scent somewhat like a horse or a deer, but mostly like some exotic flower, delicate and subtle. He could think of nothing to say, and the unicorn was silent as well.

When the night was fully dark and the stars were out, the unicorn let out a soft sigh. "I must go. My parents will come looking soon if I don't return to the herd."

"And will they be angry at you, for consorting with such a being as I?"

"I don't know. Perhaps. Perhaps not. It's never happened before with a dragon, and the last time a human came here I was very young, I don't remember much, except that everyone was sad. But... you said you wouldn't die?"

He got to all fours, resettling his wings against his sides. "Yes. Whether it's that the imperfection is me isn't as strong, or whether it's that my life force is stronger, I still can think of food, and sleep, and even my future hoard, a bit, though I find I care less for those things than I once did. I care mostly for you, though. If your parents will be angry with you, I don't want that. Perhaps... perhaps I should not come back?"

The mare snorted, getting to her feet as well. "No. They might be angry, but they would never be cruel. As you said, unicorns do not have 'petty squabbles.' And they were once out in the world themselves, when the world was young. Perhaps they will understand. In any case, I wish to see you again. Can you come tomorrow morning?"

"I need to sleep, and to hunt, I haven't eaten this day. But I will come. At noon, here, you'll find me waiting."

"I will be here then."

The dragon spread his wings, then paused. He looked back at her, and then laughed softly "I don't even know your name! Truly I've been enchanted, or I would have thought to ask for it, forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. I have no name. The others call me 'youngest' because I am, but I have earned no other name as yet."

"Ah." the dragon nodded. "I shall continue to call you 'my lady' then, if you do not mind it. My name is Rathor."

"Rathor," the mare repeated, and smiled. "I don't mind it at all."

"Tomorrow then, my lady."

"Tomorrow."

And with a leap and a thunderous beating of wings he was aloft. The mare watched him go, his jewel-bright form vanishing quickly into the darkened sky. Then she turned and walked down through the forest to the lower meadows where the herd would be drowsing.

---

Her parents heard her coming, and came out from the herd to greet her. A gentle breeze whirled for a moment about the young unicorn, and her mother's expression turned concerned as the wind carried her daughter's scent to her. A brief expression of worry also crossed her father's face, and he spoke with concern in his voice as he approached.

"Daughter. You smell of dragon. What happened?"

She stopped and pawed the ground, then shook her mane and said simply, "I met a dragon today. We spoke for a time."

"It didn't hurt you?" asked her mother.

"No. He was very kind to me, and told me the most interesting stories. He is a very young dragon."

"Ah," said her mother softly. "A dragon with no hoard then. And it was fascinated with you, as humans are."

"A bit, though he left me, and he said he wouldn't die of it. I'm glad. He was very beautiful himself, I wouldn't want him to die."

Her mother smiled. "Yes, dragons are often beautiful, in their own way. But they can also be very dangerous. If it is fascinated, it will want to come see you again then?"

"He said he would come tomorrow."

Her mother stepped close and nuzzled her cheek. "I've said dragons are dangerous. I don't want you to be hurt, daughter. Perhaps you shouldn't see it."

The young unicorn stepped back, and shook her head, sending her mane flying around her. "I want to though! You and the others have all been out in the world, before we came to the valley. I was born here, and I've never known anything else. But I want to know! I want to hear his stories about dragons and humans and other things I'll never see. Surely talking to a dragon is safer than leaving the valley to see these things!"

Her father chuckled and stepped between her and her mother, whose tail was lashing dangerously. "Yes. But talking to a dragon is never entirely safe, not even one that is fascinated. Dragons are possessive. It's even possible that it might decide to take you away, keep you like a piece of its hoard. Or any number of other things might happen. But yes, it is safer than leaving the valley."

"Then you won't forbid me to see him?"

Her parents glanced at each other, then her father spoke again.

"No, we won't forbid you. But I, at least, would like to come with you, and reassure myself that it means you no harm."

---

And so, as noon approached the next day, three unicorns waited at the edge of the broad meadow. The sun was still several hooves' width from zenith when the young mare saw the distant winged shape of the dragon against the sky. He drew closer, wings spread wide as he soared towards the meadow. He circled overhead for some time before descending, and the mare wondered if seeing her parents there with her had made him hesitant to land. But eventually he stood on all fours in the center of the meadow, his scales more intensely green than the leaves of the sunflowers around him, and waited for the unicorns to approach.

The mare stepped forward first, walking briskly through the grass and flowers. Her parents followed. Rathor watched them approach, holding very still, his eyes wide at the sight of them. The young mare's mother was almost a twin to her daughter, delicate and graceful, her coat the same glacier white, her mane and tail touched with silver rather than rose and gold, her horn pure pearl. The mare's father was taller, his body still graceful, but more strongly muscled, his fetlocks more heavily feathered, his tail fuller, his chin adorned with a wispy beard. His coat was gently brushed with the faintest hint of aged gold, his mane and tail likewise, and his horn looked as though it were made from the pure metal itself.

Rathor held his breath as they approached, and when they were within a few strides, he bowed deeply to both adult unicorns, first to the mother, then the father.

"These are my parents," said the mare, her tail's tip flipping back and forth with nervous energy. "My father, Leaps-Swiftly, and my mother, Sharp-Hoof."

"It is an honor to meet you," said the dragon, his eyes still wide, nearly overwhelmed by the experience of seeing three unicorns at once. "I am Rathor of the High Caves."

"Ah," said Leaps-Swiftly with a sudden smile. "I have known others of the High Caves. They were considered very honorable, in the days I knew them. Is Sitharsi still matriarch there?"

"Uh..." Rathor was startled, he had not expected the young mare's parents to be there in the first place, but he was even more surprised to find that they knew his family. "No, she, uh, she passed on when I was barely out of the egg. Her daughter Charsi heads the family now."

"I am sad to hear it," said Leaps-Swiftly, "I did not count her a friend, but she was wise beyond even the wisdom of dragons. She led your family well."

"Yes," agreed Sharp-Hoof. She tossed her mane and added, "And do you, dragon child, uphold the old honor of the High Caves?"

"I, uh, yes. Of course!"

"And my daughter, you will treat her with honor? You will not try to capture her, or lure her from the valley?'

"No!" Rathor looked even more startled by this question than by the unicorns' knowledge of his family. "Of course not! I have no claims on her, I would never try and take her captive, that's... that's just... it's unthinkable!"

The mare's parents exchange glances, then Sharp-Hoof chuckled. "Well, it seems that our daughter is safe in your company then. We will leave you two to talk, in that case."

As the two adult unicorns walked back into the forest, Rathor and the young mare looked at each other, neither quite sure what to say or do next. The unicorn eventually settled down into the grass. "Come, sit and tell me more stories. Tell me about dragon hoards. What do you put in them? Where do you get the things you keep, since you don't deal with other races?"

Rathor chuckled as he settled to the ground at her side. "So many questions! Hoards have many things in them, and come from many places..." The unicorn closed her eyes as she listened to him talk, imagining all the amazing and wonderful things he told her. They spoke together until the sun began to sink low in the sky, but at last, reluctantly, Rathor rose to go. "I must fly home and sleep," he said. "Much as I wish I could stay here, my family would notice my absence."

"You haven't told them about me then?"

Rather sighed. "No. Remember what I've said about dragons not having dealings with other races. I have heard my mother lecture on the subject so often that I could probably tell you word for word what she'd say to me if she knew I'd stopped and spoken with a unicorn, and it wouldn't be terribly kind, nor would I enjoy having to hear her say it."

"But... my parents knew I'd seen a dragon as soon as they scented me," said the unicorn.

Rather smiled at that. "We are creatures of the air. We hunt with our eyes, not with our noses, and we do not need to smell danger coming. So our noses are not nearly so sensitive. I don't think they could tell who I've spoken with merely from the scent. Not unless I rubbed you all over me and then immediately went home and stood directly in front of mother's snout, anyhow."

The unicorn giggled, the sound a silvery pealing of delicate bells.

"I'll come again tomorrow," the dragon promised as he spread his wings.

---

And so he did, and the day after, and the day after that as well, until he had visited every day for more than a month.

And then, when he had once again promised to return the next day, he didn't come.

The unicorn waited for him from the sun's zenith until it had set, and a little longer still, before at last making her slow and worried way down from the meadow to where the herd slept below. She slept fitfully, and before the sun's light fell on the valley floor she had climbed back to the meadow. She grazed there all that day, but she watched the sky more than she cropped the grass and flowers.

The sun set once again in a sky dotted with clouds, but empty of dragons.

The mare's parents tried to comfort her, but there was little the could say. Whether Rathor had chosen not to return, or whether he had been prevented from coming, neither possibility would soothe the mare's sorrow.

For a week she waited in the meadow from sunrise to sundown. On the seventh day she saw, far in the distance, the shape of a flying dragon. Her heart lifted, but as it drew nearer it fell again. It was not Rathor. Even at a distance she knew, for this dragon was midnight blue, not emerald green. She sighed, but watched as the dragon drew near. She expected it to pass overhead, but instead it circled, then dove down to land in front of her.

It was easily twice Rathor's size, towering over the delicate figure of the unicorn. It regarded her solemnly with blood red eyes nearly as large as her whole head. "I see somewhat why my brother wished to visit you often," it said. "You are very beautiful. But not as beautiful as my hoard."

The unicorn looked up at the dragon, trying to remember which of his siblings Rathor had said was the blue one. "You are Rathor's sister Draefel?" she asked.

The dragon nodded. "Yes. Rathor begged me to come and tell you that he cannot come again. He did not wish you to think him dead, or ill, or careless of you. Though I think he is ill indeed. But he cannot come again, ever. Our mother has forbidden him."

"But... but why?"

The dragon snorted. "Because dragons do not mix with other races. Or rather," she added in a sardonic tone, "because they do. But why is no concern of yours. I must return home. If you have any message for Rathor tell me now, for I will not come again. I have no wish to neglect my hoard and my life to pine after a unicorn."

"I... I..." she hesitated. What could she say to this strange, brusque creature? She knew what she might say to Rathor if he were here, but what message could she send through such a messenger? "Just tell him I still care for him," she said. "I always will, whether he comes again or not."

"He won't," said Draefel. "But I will tell him that."

Then with a leap and a flap of wings that sent wind whirling around the unicorn, the dragon was gone into the sky.

The mare looked after the dwindling figure for a time, then she left the meadow and descended to the valley floor to find the rest of the herd.

She ran with them once again, as she had not while waiting each day for Rathor, but though her days passed much as they had before the dragon had come, she no longer found such joy in them. Everything reminded her of her vanished friend. Each leaf and blade of grass and patch of moss was a color found on his scales. Each flower was the shade of one of the hoard-jewels he had described to her. The rushing stream reminded her of the sound of his wings. The view of the distant human lands made her think of his stories, and the view of the badlands at the head of the valley made her think of his home, and wonder what he was doing.

She tried to forget him, and tried to act as she had before, but nothing could put him from her mind, and eventually she stopped trying. She became listless and lethargic, not caring to run with the herd, it was all she could do to care enough to rise and graze in the morning. She began to grow thinner, and though a unicorn can never look ugly her beauty was no longer the vibrant beauty of healthy youth, but instead the frail, delicate beauty that comes with grief.

She wandered away from the herd often now, but it was no longer to explore, but only to be alone with her sorrow. Something had gone out of her life with Rathor, and she did not know how to get it back.

Finally her father came and found her one day as she sat in a mossy hollow beside a tiny, trickling streamlet.

"Child. You waste away as the humans do. I don't want to lose you. What can I do, what can any of us do, to help you?"

"I'm sorry father. I don't think there's anything you can do. I miss Rathor so much. There's nothing that could replace him."

"I won't be so foolish as to say that there is something that could, my daughter," her father said gently, "but surely there are other things that could lift your heart. I know you loved his stories of strange things. Perhaps... perhaps if you went into the wild lands, and saw some of those wonders..."

She shook her head. "No. It's not his stories I miss. I remember them all. I can tell them to myself again, if I wish. At first it was the stories I wanted, but then..." She sighed deeply. "It don't miss stories, I miss Rathor."

Her father echoed her sigh. "You love him."

"I don't know. What is love? Love is what you have for Mother. But you are both unicorns. Rathor is a dragon. I can't love him. But perhaps I do anyway. I don't know. All I know is that there is no taste in food, no scent in flowers, no warmth in sunlight when I am alone now. The closest I come to being happy is remembering him, but then I remember that I will never see him again and I am filled with more sorrow than ever."

"I am sorry, my child. I love you, as does your mother. All the herd loves you. It saddens us to see you like this. Unicorns usually live forever, but child, if you don't eat, if you don't move, if you lie here and live in memories, you may not. You may die. I would say that time will heal your heart, but it cannot if you don't live to see the healing."

"I'm sorry father. I don't want to die. But I don't want to live alone either."

"You are not alone child, we're here for you."

"But you are not Rathor. You are.... you are distant mirrors of me. If you pluck a flower from its vine, will surrounding it with other flowers keep it from wilting? I am missing something that is nothing like a unicorn. I... I have always been missing something, somewhere, and Rathor filled that space. Now he is gone, and I can no longer live empty, when I know what makes me whole." The young mare bowed her head, and tears trickled from her eyes.

"Oh child... you do love him then."

"If knowing that someone is your match, your other half, that which makes you whole; if that is love then yes."

"Then you must go to him," said her father.

The mare lifted her head. "Go to him?"

"Yes. I could wish to keep your safe here in this valley forever, child, but I always knew that someday you might leave it. There are but two score and four of us here, and all mated. If nothing else someday you might well have left to visit the other places where our kind yet live, and find a mate. That perhaps you have found love in a form other than a mate of your own kind doesn't change this. If this truly is love, then you must go. His family have forbidden him to come here, but they have not forbidden you to go there. Go then, find him, and be with him among the dragons, if that is what it will take to lift your sorrow."

The young mare felt a stirring of hope in her heart. It was true. She had thought only of how Rathor was forbidden to come to her, but she was not forbidden to go to him! She could see him again. She rose to her feet, her heart racing. "But what about Mother?"

Her father smiled. "It was your mother's idea that I speak to you, and to suggest you go to him. She wants to protect you, child, but she knows as much as I that you will not stay a child forever. Perhaps now is the time for you to grow up."

"Yes." She turned and looked to the east, where the badlands lay. Somewhere out there Rathor was waiting, held prisoner by his own family. She would go to him, and do whatever she needed to do to convince the dragons to let her be with him, and him with her. "Thank you Father."

"The day is still young, my daughter. You could journey some distance today if you go now."

"I will go then. Tell Mother and the others goodbye for me."

"I will. Goodbye, my daughter. May luck go with you and the good gods watch over you."

With a flick of her tail the young mare bounded off through the forest. She ran through the familiar landscape until she came to the head of the valley, where a waterfall poured over cliffs into a tiny lake below. There was a path up the cliff face where deer came down from the rougher lands above to graze in the valley. She had climbed it a few times before, so she bounded up the narrow track with familiar ease. But when she reached the top she stopped. Always before she had climbed this far, and surveyed the valley from above, and then turned back. She looked over the familiar view once more. Here was her home. She had lived here for her whole life. However much she sometimes yearned for something different, the valley was the only place she knew and now she was leaving it, and might never return. She might never run along the stream, leaping over mossy boulders at its edge. She might never climb to the high meadows to graze on sunflowers, or graze in the forest clearings with the other unicorns. She might never rest with her parents on a bed of ferns in the darkness of the deep woods at twilight. All these things, that had made up the whole of her life, might never happen again.

She turned and looked ahead. There was no forest here, above the valley. The land was a jumble of tumbled granite fallen from the mountains that drew close together at the valley's head. Trees found precarious perches here and there, but mostly she saw only gray stone, rising in irregular ranks to a narrow slot between the mountains. And beyond that, the unknown. But somewhere, out in that unknown land, was Rathor. Her eyes glinted with determination, and she took the first step forward into the wilderness of stone.

It was a hard climb. The stream threaded its way among boulders in a white, tumbled chain of waterfalls, so often her footing was slick with spray. The deer track was harder to find on the bare stone, but she knew that if the deer could pass this way, so could she, and so she continued to pick her way around and over the stones. Soon she passed the spring where the stream's waters emerged from the ground, and after that her footing was dry and the going was a little easier. The sun had been high in the sky when she began, but it was more than halfway towards the horizon before she finally reached the high point of her climb.

She resisted the urge to look back the way she'd come and instead gazed at the vista that spread out ahead of her. The slope was gentler on this side than the climb she had just made, and there were more trees, though it seemed that the land was drier on this side of the mountains, for the trees were sparse, and there was little undergrowth. Beyond the tree-studded slopes she could see the jumbled badlands, a wasteland of reddish sandstone towers and arches shot through with ravines, gullies, and narrow slot canyons. Beyond that, blue and almost invisible in the distance, were more mountains, the range stretching across the horizon. It was intimidating. The trip would be long, and the mountains were huge. She could search for a century and not find a single dragon in that vast space. But she had to make the attempt. She was immortal. If it took a thousand years to finish her search she would search all the same.

She began her descent, and was soon moving beneath spindly pines that bore only a scant dusting of needles compared to the lush, full trees she was used to seeing. Dry grass swished and crackled around her hooves as she walked. There was a depression, like a stream bed, that ran down from the mountains, but it was dry, the bottom holding only bare sand.

When the sun began to sink behind the horizon she stopped and cropped some of the dry grass. It was tasteless compared to the lush fodder she was used to, but she had known hunger before and would not turn her nose up at poorer fare than this, if need be. There had been winters when the herd ate the very bark and twigs from the trees. Dry grass was better than that, at least.

She slept in a sandy hollow and went on at sunrise. As she descended, and as the sun rose, the temperature climbed. Soon she was hot and thirsty. She tested the air constantly, hoping for the scent of water. Happily when it was not quite noon she smelled moisture in the air. She resisted the urge to trot faster. It wouldn't do to exhaust herself. She followed the scent at a steady pace until she found the tiny spring. It was in the floor of a dry stream bed, and it trickled out of its tiny pool to make a thin stream that wound at the bottom of the broad gully. She drank the clear water eagerly, and set off along the stream's path. But before long the tiny flow vanished, dried by the parched air and drunk by the thirsty earth. She took her fill and more from the last drinkable puddle and went on her way.

She was four days coming down into the badlands. Eventually the grass and sparse pine trees gave way to true desert, scrubby sage and the occasional juniper keeping various cacti company as rare patches of green on a landscape of red and orange. The sky above was perfect blue, unmarred by cloud. It was high summer and there would be few rainstorms here.

The going became much more difficult now. The gullies had been replaced by slot canyons, narrow passages that even she, slender as she was, sometimes had trouble squeezing through. And there were abrupt drops, down which she had to jump, even though they were sometimes higher than she was tall. And they didn't run straight, of course. Her route became winding and convoluted, and sometimes she found herself forced to head away from her goal. It was slow going, and forage was scarce and water even scarcer. But the mare continued on, utterly determined to cross the badlands and reach the mountains on the far side.

She had been traveling for three weeks, and was looking if anything even more thin and frail than she had before she'd left, when she stepped around a sharp bend in one of the canyons and nearly stumbled over a dwarf.

He was very short, he might have walked beneath her and only had to duck a little bit. He was also very hairy, with a hat on over a bushy head of hair that blended into an even more bushy beard.

They regarded each other in surprised silence for a moment. Then the mare said, "I'm sorry."

"No need," said the dwarf, looking more than a little bit stunned. "You... you're a unicorn."

"Yes," said the mare simply.

"I never thought I'd see one with my own eyes," breathed the dwarf. "You are even more beautiful than the stories say."

"I'm sorry," repeated the mare. She didn't know if a dwarf would pine after her as a human might. She hoped not. The dwarf reached out as if to touch her, then drew his hand back.

"You are probably passing through these parts," said the dwarf.

"Yes." The unicorn nodded. "I'm headed for the mountains." She nodded in their direction, though they were invisible behind the canyon walls.

"Do you... do you think you could stay for a day or two?"

The unicorn blinked at him, puzzled. "I don't know... I want to get to the mountains as soon as I can."

"I can help with that. There are tunnels here, and more as you go on. They're easier than following these canyons, you could probably cut your travel time in half. I would be happy to guide you through them, if you would just stay for a few days."

"I suppose..." she was a little dubious. "Why do you want me to stay?"

"Because I am an artisan. And because you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I don't think I could keep you, but if I can draw you, sculpt you, preserve your form in metal or stone, however inadequate compared to the reality, I would have you here always."

"An... artisan." The word was strange on her tongue, but Rathor had told her of such. The work of dwarven artisans was much in demand among dragons, he had said, and among humans too. "So... you will make images of me?"

"Yes," said the dwarf, nodding.

"And this will only take a few days?"

"Yes. I will do a lot of drawings, and a few rough reference sculptures. And then I may spend the next century refining a handful of finished pieces, but I don't need you to stay for that. And if you do stay a few days you can eat, and rest, and when you're ready to leave I'll guide you to the mountains in far less time than it would take for you to find your way there alone."

"All right," said the mare.

"Wonderful! Thank you very much!" He turned and beckoned to her. "Come, follow me." He trotted off down the canyon floor, with the mare trailing behind, somewhat uncertain but mostly curious. After only a few minutes the dwarf stopped at a rock, apparently just like every other rock that leaned against the canyon wall. He did something she couldn't see and she heard a click, and then the rock swung aside to reveal a dark tunnel mouth. The dwarf lit a lantern, then stepped inside, gesturing once again for the unicorn to follow.

She had to duck her head, but the tunnel was just taller than she was at the withers, so she didn't have to crouch further. The rock swung shut behind them, leaving the little lantern as the only source of light. She might have been in danger of tripping, but the floor was perfectly level.

They walked down the smooth tunnel for several hours, occasionally passing side tunnels, before coming to a place where the unicorn could lift her head. And more than lift it, she looked up and up and up, but the high-arched cavern vanished into darkness somewhere high above. The floor and walls of the immense chamber were covered in buildings, and tunnel mouths, and speckled with thousands of lights. Here and there she could make out the squat forms of other dwarves, moving around amid what must be shops and houses, though she had only heard of such things. It was only a large town, not a city, but to the unicorn it was enormous, and very strange.

"Come quickly," the dwarf said quietly. "Most of my fellows are at their work, but if too many see you there may be a crowd, and crowds are always uncertain and chancy things."

The unicorn shivered and looked around nervously. Something in the dwarf's tone conveyed the importance of not being seen. She hurried after him as he trotted quickly down the deserted streets. "Fortunately it's not far to my studio," he said. And indeed only moments later he was opening a square stone door and ushering the unicorn inside. She had to duck once more to get through the doorway, but the ceiling inside was high enough for her to stand upright. The dwarf shut the door behind them.

"There. Now, you probably are thirsty, and hungry, and tired. Do you like mushrooms? How about bread? There's no grass down here, and no flowers, I'm afraid. I might find some dried fruit, perhaps..."

"I like mushrooms. I don't know what bread is. Dried fruit would be fine too."

"Don't know what bread is? Well, I'll get you a bit then, you might like it. Here, sit down." He gestured to a couch, which the unicorn regarded curiously. She tested it with one hoof and found it soft and springy, as if someone had covered a fern bed with fabric. She smiled and settled herself onto it. The dwarf brought her a mug of water, then stood looking embarrassed. "Oh. You can't hold a cup. I'm sorry, I'll, uh,"

The mare could smell the water, and she was very thirsty, so she interrupted, "Just put it down and I can drink from it." The dwarf set the mug on the floor and the mare rose and drank, her delicate muzzle fitting in the broad vessel easily enough. The dwarf stared at her as she drank. Even that simple action was so graceful... He shook himself and went to get food.

The mare found that she quite liked bread, and happily ate a good bit of it, as well as a generous helping of mushrooms and a handful of dried fruit. She thanked the dwarf when she had eaten, and then laid down on the couch once more. She was tired. She wanted to ask the dwarf about the things he made, and about the enormous cave, and about bread, and about the mountains where the dragons lived, and a thousand other things as well, but she fell asleep as soon as she put her head down, worn out by her long journey.

---

When she woke it was to a peculiar, irregular scratching noise. She blinked sleepily, disoriented for a moment by the strange surroundings. Then she saw the dwarf, sitting on a chair, with a peculiar, flat object in his lap. He was worrying at it with a thin stick, scratching at the surface. He glanced up at her and stopped.

"Ah, you're awake."

"Yes. What were you doing?"

"Drawing some sketches. See?" He turned the flat thing towards her and she could see that it was covered in gray lines. She peered at them curiously. For a moment they remained just lines, but suddenly they became something else. She blinked, realizing that somehow the lines were her. She could see her long legs folded up, and her head resting on the couch, eyes closed in sleep. It was very like magic, to see herself there in gray lines, somehow real even though it was flat and lifeless.

"I've never seen a drawing before," she said. "Only heard about them. Unless you count scratching shapes into the sand with a hoof, I used to do that when I was very young."

The dwarf smiled at her. "I think all children do that. I certainly liked to draw shapes wherever I could when I was young. Really that's all I do now, all drawings are made up of shapes, when it comes right down to it."

The unicorn looked at the paper again, puzzled. She shook her mane as if to shake off her confusion.

"Nevermind," said the dwarf. "Now that you're awake, would you mind standing, so that I can draw you that way too?"

"All right," said the unicorn. She climbed off the couch with delicate care and stood in the center of the room.

The dwarf picked up his pencil and started drawing again, while the unicorn tried to hold still. They paused several times for food, but other than that the dwarf drew all day. Though how he marked the passing of time when the sun wasn't visible the unicorn wasn't sure. But somehow he knew when night fell and it was time to sleep. "Thank you," he told her as she settled on the couch once again. "I think I have everything I need. I'll wake you early tomorrow and show you the passage you'll need to take to reach the mountains."

---

The unicorn blinked as she stepped out of the tunnel mouth. After so long beneath the earth the early morning sunlight was blindingly bright. With a grating of stone on stone the door to the tunnel swung shut behind her. "Thank you!" she called back, not sure if the dwarf heard her or not.

She surveyed the terrain before her. She was much higher than she'd been when she entered the dwarven tunnels. She was partway up the slope of one of the foothills of the mountains that were her destination. Spread out below her the tumbled red rock of the badlands looked impossibly vast, and she was very glad she'd been able to cross most of it underground, with plentiful food and water supplied by her dwarven guide. The unicorn turned to look behind her. The hill she stood on sloped up for some distance, but she could see the peaks of the mountains above the crest of the hill. With firm determination she set off, climbing steadily.

It was greener here than it had been in the badlands, though not nearly so lush as her valley. But there were shrubs and trees here and there around her as she walked, and she could faintly smell water in the air. Finding forage and water would not be hard. Finding Rathor... that might be harder.

From the crest of the hill she could see for miles around. The mountains stretched away in both directions, and she had no idea on which of the dozen or more visible peaks, vanishing into the hazy distance, Rathor might live. She would just have to check them all.

It took another full day to reach the mountains proper. And once she was there she had no better plan than to simply wander, and try to catch some sight or scent of dragons. She circled the base of the peak over the course of several days, and then climbed up nearly to the snow line, but there was no sign of dragons there. So she moved on. Travel was slow. The land here was not as torn and twisted as the badlands, but there were narrow valleys and cliffs and many other barriers to her passage, so she never moved in a straight line.

She thought she caught the scent of a dragon once, born on the breeze, but when she tried to follow it there was a cliff in her way, and when she'd climbed around that, the scent was gone.

A few days later she saw what she was certain must be a dragon, a winged shape high, high overhead. She called out to it. "Hello! Dragon! Hey! I'm looking for Rathor, do you know where he is? Dragon!" But it just continued on its way, and she didn't even know if it could hear her from so far above.

So she continued her search. For months she wandered among the mountains and hills, and now and again she caught a faint whiff of dragon scent, or saw one flying by overhead, but she never came near enough to speak to one, and she never found any of their lairs.

And time was passing. The weather turned colder, and it wasn't long before the first snow came. It was only a dusting, and it melted by noon, but on the higher slopes it stuck. She stayed in the lower valleys after that, not wanting to browse in the snow. But all too soon the snow that capped the peaks had crept down the sides of the mountains and carpeted the valleys, and there was nowhere to go to escape it. Still she kept searching. She had recovered from her near-starvation while in the dwarven tunnels, but once more her sides became thin and her ribs showed beneath her winter-white coat. She was a ghost amid the snow, but she did not float over the knee-deep white. Her tiny hooves broke through the crust of it, and so she had to struggle through it, pushing snow aside with each step. Increasingly she needed to spend most of her day digging for dead grass beneath the snow to keep from starvation. She even ate the bark of the trees, and tried mouthfulls of bitter pine needles, for often there was nothing else. At night she slept in a hollow in the snow, and felt sometimes that she would never be warm again.

Eventually, though, spring came as it always does. The snow began to melt, and there were flowers and other green things springing up through the shrinking patches of white. The unicorn ate them, relishing the taste of blossoms, which nourished a unicorn more than any other sort of food.

She never quite regained the sleekness she had had in the unicorns' valley, but soon she was less starved. And long before she had fully recovered from winter's harshness she was roaming the mountains once more, seeking dragons.

Months passed. Spring advanced towards summer with no more sign of dragons than she'd found before. She sometimes wanted to despair, but she remembered vowing that she would spend centuries if need be, and she wasn't about to take that vow back. She had explored only a small part, truly, of the vast mountain range. It would indeed take years to visit it all. Still, she had hoped to see something more of dragons by now than distant silhouettes and the faint scent of sulfur.

One gorgeous day in late summer, almost exactly one year since she'd first reached the mountains, the unicorn found herself in a high sunflower meadow. She stepped out of the trees to graze, but as she took the first mouthfull of yellow petals she couldn't help but recall another sunflower meadow, and a hapless sunflower torn beneath dragon's claws as Rathor tried to explain how he felt to her. She sank to the ground amid the flowers and began to cry. She missed him so much! Why did he have to leave? Why had his family taken him away from her?

Her sorrow flashed over suddenly into anger, and she got to her feet. She reared up and shouted at the empty sky. "Why?! We just wanted to be together, why did you have to take him away?!"

High above her grief-filled cry was answered by an eagle's scream. She looked up and gasped. It was not an eagle, but a gryphon, and it was diving directly at her. She screamed a defiant cry of her own and reared to meet it.

The mare's sharp horn cut through the air as she tossed her head and the gryphon pulled up, the huge creature passing just over her head with a thundering whoosh of wings. It spiraled up above her, and turned to dive again. Once more she met it with ready horn, rearing and tossing her head. And once more it pulled up short, unwilling to risk being impaled on that sharp spiral of pearl. A third time it swooped down on her, but a third time she met it with a challenge cry, and this time when it spiraled up above it wheeled and flew away to seek easier prey.

"You are very brave, for something so small."

The unicorn spun around at the sound of the deep, rich voice. Behind her stood a dragon. It was brilliant scarlet, the color of rubies. The color of fresh-spilled blood. Its eyes were gold, its talons ebon black, and its teeth ivory white. It could have swallowed the unicorn without chewing, it was the largest dragon she'd ever seen, easily ten times the size of Rathor.

She gaped up at it. For a moment fear filled her. But fear was almost instantly replaced with hope. "You're a dragon!" she exclaimed, and then immediately added, "Oh please, I'm looking for Rathor of the high caves. Can you tell me where to find him? Please?!"

"And what will you do if I say no?" said the dragon.

The unicorn sighed, some of the hope leaving. "I will keep looking. I am immortal, and he is nearly so. I have centuries yet for searching, though I hope... I hope to find him sooner than that."

"You are very determined. We had thought you would give up after a few days, or perhaps weeks. Or that you would quit when winter came. But it seems you will not."

The unicorn stared, wide-eyed. "You've been watching me?"

The dragon chuckled. "Indeed. A dragon's eyes are very good. Often we have flown high above, and looked down on you."

"But... why? Why watch me? And why... why was Rathor locked away, and forbidden to see me?"

"I shall let Charsi of the high caves tell you that herself. If you are brave enough to come with me, that is."

"I'll do whatever I need to do to see Rathor again," she said, setting her face in a expression of utter determination.

The dragon smiled at her. "Very well." And suddenly he reached out and scooped her up, carrying her as if she were a toy. She let out a tiny squeak of surprise. And then another, for no sooner had the dragon picked her up than he launched himself into the air, the sound of his wings thundering in her ears. The wind of them battered her in those first chaotic moments of flight, but then he was high enough to glide and the flight steadied.

She peered down at the mountains, the lower slopes where she had stood now far below. The trees were tiny beneath her. She'd been this high a few times during her exploration of the peaks, but the fact that she wasn't touching the ground made it all somehow seam dream-like and unreal.

The dragon flew for a surprisingly short time before landing on a high ledge next to a cliff face. The cliff had a cave in it, a huge, gaping blackness. The unicorn stared. She had been on this very ledge some months back! She knew she had! But there had been no cave, only a rough stone wall. But she didn't have time to ponder that oddity, for the dragon carried her inside the cave. As he stepped into the darkness, a glow sprang up around him, gently lighting his way as he went deeper into the cavern.

Soon the cavern opened up into a larger chamber, and there was another dragon there. If anything it was even larger than the one that carried the mare. It was green, the same infinite, shading green as Rathor. Its talons were the same polished black, and its eyes the same ruby red. But it had no horns, which the mare thought meant it was a female. And the mare knew that this must be Rathor's mother, Charsi who he had spoken of with tones that held respect, love, and a small measure of fear. She was a formidable creature.

The dragon carrying her put her down in front of the female dragon, and the mare felt even smaller, standing on the floor, coming hardly higher than the huge dragon's feet. Charsi bent her huge head, and the unicorn found herself looking at teeth longer than her horn. "Why are you here, unicorn?"

"I'm looking for Rathor. Please, may I see him?"

The dragon looked sternly down on her. "Why?"

The unicorn blinked up at the dragon. What should she say? How could she put this year-long quest into words? Finally she simply said "Because I love him."

"Not because he loves you?"

The unicorn blinked. "I don't know for certain that he does. Fascination may not be love. But I hope it might become love, perhaps. All I really know is that I love him. I miss him. I really want to be with him. Please..." She stopped, not knowing what else to say.

Charsi was silent for a long time, and the unicorn tried to think of something else to say, some other way to plead her case. But she could think of nothing. The dragon standing behind her stirred restlessly, and the unicorn jumped. She had forgotten it was there. The female dragon sighed deeply. "Very well child. For a year we've watched you search for him. Although at first we thought you were only looking for your possession, as one looks for a lost coin, it has become clear that your search is more serious than that. And for a year he has begged to be released to see you. So very well. You may go to him. I will show you the way."

She turned and walked down an immense tunnel. The unicorn went after her, having to trot rapidly to keep up with the dragon's leisurely stride. They didn't have to go far before they reached a fork in the tunnel. One side was much smaller than the other. Rathor's mother might have fit down it, but only if she crawled on her belly. She didn't, but halted in front of it and gestured at it. "He is there."

The mare had to walk beneath the huge dragon in order to reach the tunnel mouth. But she was no longer nervous. The thought of finally seeing Rathor again pushed all other thoughts from her head, and soon she was trotting rapidly down the passageway.

It wasn't long, only a moment later it opened up into a chamber much smaller than the first she'd entered, but more than large enough to contain a young dragon.

And Rathor was there. She knew him instantly, would have known him among a thousand other green dragons. He was crouched against the far wall, head down, eyes half closed. "Rathor!"

His head snapped up, and for a moment he only gaped at her. But then his eyes lit and he ran to meet her. He clanked as he ran, and the mare saw that there were heavy manacles around his ankles, with long chains attached to the wall. But he ignored them utterly, his eyes fixed on her. "My lady!" They met in the center of the chamber, and he put his forelegs around her and clutched her close. She nuzzled at him, and pressed close willingly. When she looked up at him she found he was crying.

"Oh Rathor. It's all right. Please don't cry."

He hugged her tighter. "I'm so happy you're here. I thought I'd never see you again."

They clung to each other, and nothing more was said for a long time. Eventually they were interrupted by a discreet throat-clearing. It was Draefel, Rathor's midnight-blue sister. She smiled and shook her head. "So. I told Mother that your madness would only end when you were set free to find your unicorn. It seems I was wrong. Your unicorn has instead come to find you. But you shall be set free all the same. The chains serve no purpose now."

She bent and touched the manacles with one claw. There was a spark of strange, shimmery light, and they fell off in two halves. Rathor seemed hardly to notice, he was still clinging to the mare, his muzzle tucked against her should as he held her. Draefel smiled and left without another word.

Much, much later they lay side by side in the cavern, talking quietly. "I still don't understand why your mother didn't want you to see me," said the unicorn.

"Partly I think it is because she was convinced I only wanted to see you because of the magic, that I was ensorcelled, though I feel that I've long since replaced fascination with something more. But also... well, it's a long story, truly. I've said that dragons tend to avoid mixing much with other races. But there's a reason why. You see, many, many years ago there was no such taboo. Dragons socialized freely with all races, spending a great deal of time with artisans in particular, bargaining for our hoards. And it became rather common, as I think is inevitable when people spend much time on common interests, that some of those business arrangements became love bonds.

"Now I lack the skill myself, though I hope someday to master it, but most dragons are shape-changers. They can become whatever they wish, so oft times the other did not even know they were dealing with a dragon, they thought the dragon was one of their own. More than that, however, dragons are, well... we're fertile with all races. Dragons may crossbreed with any race, and father or bear offspring. And in those days this was very, very common. So much so that perhaps a third of the dragon population had halfbreed children.

"Then... then there was a war. Your parents may have told you of it, the Great War, when elvenkind and mankind fought, and nearly all other races were drawn into the conflict.

"I don't know if the dragons would have stayed neutral, or if they might have picked one side or the other, had things been otherwise. No one can know what might have been. What was... was that the dragons joined both sides. For some had children and lovers among the elves, and some among the humans. And so the war became far more terrible, for dragons are capable of great destruction. Many thousands, even perhaps hundreds of thousands, of men and elves died. Many dragons died also.

"In the end the conflict ended with no winner, with both sides devastated, and with the dragons left a broken race. Though we live nearly as long as unicorns, there are few of us left who fought in those wars, for with dragon against dragon, and with all men and elves seeking to destroy us before we could destroy them, most who fought died.

"The survivors agreed that dragons would never again mix with the other races. And though this is tradition, not law, still my mother insisted I abide by it. But..." he shook his head.

"But unicorns do not war," said the mare softly.

"Yes. And even if you did I would not care. I love you, whatever you may be, and whatever fate you may lead me to."

"And I feel the same about you." She smiled up at him. "I will be happy to stay here by your side, or go wherever you go."

"You should go home. Your parents will surely be worried about you."

"Perhaps. But only if you'll come with me."

"Of course."

---

Rathor could not carry her and fly, she was too heavy for him to do more than glide. Neither of them suggested that he ask his larger relations to help though. With Rathor to aid her, the trip back to the unicorns' valley would be much easier than her first journey, and they wanted no one else to come between them. So they set off together on one beautiful afternoon. Rathor did carry her down from the high cave, gliding gracefully to the lower slopes, where they continued together on foot.

He guided her from above, so that they could find the shortest way through the twisting badlands maze, and he flew to lush meadows and brought her armfulls of grass, garnished with bouquets of flowers that he took care to pick, so she did not starve during the weeks it took to cross that treacherous territory. Indeed she glowed with health as never before.

Rathor, who had looked somewhat wan and dull-scaled when the mare had found him, now began to look glossy and healthy as well. He hunted for himself as well as gathering food for the unicorn, and they were both well-fed and fit when they at last crossed over the pass and stood above the unicorn's valley. Rathor carried her once more, gliding down the steep descent to the valley floor. They landed by the pool at the foot of the waterfall.

As the pair made their way through the forest, they caught a glimpse of white ahead, and then another, and then the whole wood was alive with unicorns as the herd moved through the trees to meet them, with the mare's parents running ahead.

The mare ran to meet them, and they met in the heart of a tiny glen, a small clear space not large enough to call a meadow, with sunlight streaming down all around them. The mare touched horns, and nuzzled her parents.

"Our Seeker has returned," said her father.

"And the Seeker has found what she sought," said her mother, and they both smiled at Rathor.

But for just an instant the mare's attention was not on her love, for the words her parents had said resonated with her strangely. "Seeker?" she said softly, questioningly.

Her father smiled. "Yes."

She tossed her head in a gesture of sudden joy.

"My name is Seeker!"

Her parents smiled proudly at her, and as Rathor came and stood by her side she had never been happier in her life.