well ahead of the draconians. “Master!” The woods took
his cry in, draining it, not echoing.
“I am here,” came the voice from the rock softly. “I
am always here.” The woods echoed ALWAYS.
“I have a question.”
“You have often had questions. You may ask.”
“There are many and diverse beings who l-live – ” he
stumbled over the word ” – inhabit this wood. Some
hooved, some human, some both; some living, some dead,
some a mix of living and dead.”
“That much is true.” She waited.
“How do they think of me? Do they think of me as
one of them?” The loneliness in his own voice startled
him.
“You are regarded differently by different beings. Do
you wish to be thought one of them?”
The stag thought of those he knew and taunted, then
thought of the draconians. “I had not thought so. But
recently I discovered a threat which I do not want to harm
creatures here, as though they were mine and I cared for
them.”
“Then by that care, they are yours and you theirs. Does
that please you?”
After a long silence, the stag said quietly, “I had not
thought it would.”
“I am glad.” The Forestmaster added, “But that is not
why you came, this night, as you have come all the others.”
“True.” The stag came forward to the rock. “I have
come to you a final time. Will you not have me?”
“In service, yes. In love, no.” She leapt from the rocks,
landing in a cascade of light like stars, even by day. Like
the king, like the stag himself, she did not seem surprised by
events.
But she was astonished when the stag bent his forelegs
and knelt awkwardly in the dust before her. He swayed,
unaccustomed to kneeling. “Then I will serve you, a final
time. This last thing I do of my own choosing.”
The unicorn stared at his lowered head. “May I ask
why?”
The stag answered, not moving. “Do not think me
inconstant.”
“That is the last thing I would think you.”
“Good. All that I felt, all that I wish for and desire – ”
his voice wavered” – are unchanged. But in all the endless
times that I have left here, returned here, betrayed here, I
never saw the simplest reality of this place: That the wood
is larger than I am. It is larger than my need. In the end, it
will be larger, and last longer, than even my love could. I
offer that love, to it and you, freely and without asking in
return – since without asking, you and the wood itself and
all in it have always given what you could. I offer my
service, and,” he finished humbly, “I hope it is well done
enough to be of use.”
The unicorn looked at him for a long time, seeing every
detail of him, every hair and horn and eyelash. At last she
said gently, “Most well done, beloved. And remember that I
have only said that I COULD not love you – never that I
DID not. Go with the hunt.”
She touched his forehead with her horn three times.
He fell sideways, legs jerking and twitching. Terrible
cries came from him, most loudly when the antlers broke
off. His coat grew paler with each moment, and where the
Forestmaster had touched him a single spiral horn emerged,
blood-tipped, pulling itself through his splintered forehead.
When the draconians emerged, they saw a rock peak
and only one unicorn, tottering unsteadily on its hooves.
With shouts of triumph they leaped into the air, gliding in
pursuit of the unicorn, with their swords swinging and their
fanged mouths wide.
The stag moved, stumblingly at first, into Darken
Wood. One by one the draconians alit and stalked him on
foot.
Through the long afternoon, the stag learned again the
old lesson: some hunters one may outrun, but not outlast.
Whenever he entered the slightest clearing, the draconians
covered more ground than he, gaining rest from the time
spent gliding. He wondered if they could fly at all, but soon
he was too tired to wonder. While he stayed in the densest