belly, moaning. Strange marks showed on its narrow backside.
“Faset,” Hathcar hissed, “what happened?” The mon-
goose rolled to look at him, yelped when its bruised pelvis
made contact with the ground.
“I happened.” Everyone turned toward the voice.
The unicorn strolled casually into the clearing. It was
gold. Not the light gold of a palomino but a pure metallic
gold like the color of a coin or ring, except for white
patches on its forehead and haunches. It might have risen
from a vat of liquid gold except that Jon-Tom could clearly
see that the color was true, down to the shortest hair.
In its mouth it carried a small crossbow. This it dropped
at Jon-Tom’s feet. Then it nodded meaningfully toward the
still groaning mongoose. Jon-Tom now recognized the
marks on the mongoose’s pants. They were hoofprints.
Hathcar was beside himself as he glared furiously at the
unicorn. “Who the hell are you, four-foot? And who
asked you to interfere? This is none of your business.”
The unicorn gazed at him out of lapis eyes, said coolly,
226
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
227
“1 am making it my business.” He smiled at Jon-Tom.
“My name’s Drom. I was grazing back in the woods when
I heard the talk. Ordinarily I would have ignored it, as I
ignored your presence.” He nodded toward the mongoose,
who was trying to crawl back to its comrades while
avoiding Hathcar.
“However, I happened to chance upon this ebon worm
as he was aiming his little toy at your back.” Drom raised
a hoof, brought it down on the crossbow. There was a