Hundreth Year

“Moonstar, young filly, you shall grow up to be a great one, I've no doubt of that!" my dam would say to me when I was about fourteen. "You be stout of limb, long-legged, and you 'ave a greater alicorn than many a colt I know. You'll take care o' yersel', lass, good, good care," was what my sire would say when I was a mere foal. The years had flown by, and tonight, the night of my hundreth year, I was to go to the Unicorn Meet, with all of the young mares of the Varre Herd, to be allowed to go to the Brieljing*, to find a mate among the young stallions my age there.
   
I did not fully understand why the stallions stayed there, away from their mates, but it was the Custom, and none of the other mares, not my dam, Marena, or even my best friend Trinna, questioned it. It was the way things always had been, and would always be. I had been to the Varre of the Stallions, to meet my sire, the winter after my birth, when I was a jerra, or foal, rising one, not yet weaned.

Now, tonight, I would be a full-fledged brolia, (or mare) and in the next two seasons would be in foal for the first time. I shivered in anticipation. My light gray coat, the coat-color of all yenna, or near-growns, sparkled in the moonlight. Faint flickers of color, violet, lilac, indigo, and Purple Mountain’s Majesty were prominent, meaning my coat would most likely be in the sheikla spectrum of the rainbow. Sheikla were rare colors, and some of the most stunning.

I was glad of that, but Trinna was to be, most likely, in the kreeal, or blue rainbow. My own mother's color was vibrant red, while I could not recall my sire's coat-shade. As the other yenna jammered to their friends, I thought about what it might be like to meet a serla, or a unicorn from outside the Varre.
   
The stories never mentioned much of the serla, but there was a faint glimmer. The only story I had heard about the serla and the Learling, the elves, was about the enmity between the two. I remembered the Klaala, my dam, telling the jerra of the Learling, and of the serla, of how they rallied their armies to destroy the Varre, saying they were blasphemers against their goddess Alia, and managed to leave the Varre with few mares and fewer stallions. 'The Varre won, though we lost many valiant warriors,' I thought, a smile passing on my lips.

The serla were strange, with long, flowing manes and straight horns, not prettily spiraled like a seashell. The serla had called my people ugly, with their medium-and-short-manes that, unlike the serla's, did not bounce everywhere. Our manes mainly are plastered down on our necks by the gel off the cattain plant, mixed by the healer. We did not have barns and paddocks, but roamed free in the Valley of the Varre, where vegetation would snap up the manes of a serla in an instant. The serla also had curious, round, solid hooves that made it hard for them to maneuver the rocky terrain of the Walls of the Varre, one reason the Varre unicorns had slipped by, on our cloven hooves.
   
"Moonstar," a voice boomed from the inners of the vast willow tree, the foliage so dense that it was nearly impossible to see through. I gulped, and trotted through.
   
"Moonstar Marenasget, you have been summoned to the Secret willow on the eve of the Shadowed Moon, to be given a secret name, only your true mate will know, and to finally receive your color, the color you will bear on your back until you die,” the Brinja, Denne, intoned. Beside her, in the shadows, an ancient mare stepped forth. The Skarrla, Starra, was long-limbed, unlike the Brinja.

“Youngling, I have seen your future, and it is grim. No, don’t look at me that way; it will not turn for a good many moons yet. Nevertheless, when you go to the Brieljing, be careful. Come around to my Pool, and you will receive all your dreams,” the Dreamteller whispered, leading me to the Dreamteller’s Pool. The Pool was a place of magic, and the shadows passed coolly over my back, inviting me to frolic. The Pool was ahead, and I could see the crystal waters, banked by amethysts.

“Now, yenna, dip your horn in three times, and whisper your name.” I performed the ritual, and a vision appeared on the surface. The vision showed a vibrantly colored black stallion, with a silver-dotted coat, like stars, and had a stark white mane and tail. His horn sprang into the night like a spear of beaten silver. The horn had no twisted spirals, like the Varre’s members.
   
The vision faded away, to reveal a delicately hued lilac mare, running by his side, two molten silver stockings on her legs. The Pool cleared to reveal my face, staring back at me, and I heard my own voice whisper, “Hwenna, Hwenna…Hwenna. I am Hwenna.” The Pool’s spell broke, and I shook myself, the word ‘Hwenna’ ringing in my ears. I looked back at my flank, and saw the same lilac as the mare in my vision.
   
“Are you done yet?” asked the gruff voice of Steelfoot, the leader of the Shrinlaa.

“Nearly!” the Dreamteller called out. “Youngling, are you all right? Normally you will only receive the name of yourself. Did anything unusual happen?” Starra queried.

“I saw a vision. A strange one…” I replied, dazed.

“Humm. I thought I was the only one who beheld a vision on my Naming Day… You may be a Dreamteller, or a magicker, maybe a fortune-teller, perhaps a healer. Rare indeed are the mares with those talents. Ask me if you have any questions!” she called as I exited the willow.

“Youngling, are you okay? I haven’t seen a sour face like that since my own Naming Day!” the Shrinlaa leader asked, laughing gruffly. “The Dreamteller told me I had a gift, but I chose the Shrinlaa. I don’t ‘ave to worry with that cattain gel, that’s one reason! My mane was chewed off, quickly as you please. I never did like the smell of the stuff…” she trailed off, noticing I had wandered away. “Kids these days have no respect,” she mumbled to herself.
   
I, meanwhile, had wandered away to the narrow, winding river that rushed through the Varre, and gazed up at the constellation known as ‘The Pegasus’. The star picture had always fascinated me, drawing me to wonder what a pegasus really was. Legend said it was a unicorn without a horn, but with an eagle’s wings. The pegasus could soar over the skies, and I fervently wished then to have the beautiful wings, all gossamer and airy, like the winged ones, to cut the journey to the Varre of Stallions. The travail to the Varre of Stallions was a rather daunting one, several weeks. That was the reason, that after mating, the mares in foal would stay until the jerra were born and a few days old.
   
Unfortunately, the riverbank was the least private place in the Varre. Trinna cantered up, after a few hours of my staring into the sky, contemplating the vision. “Wow, cool color! Do you like mine? Hello! Earth to Moony!” Trinna whinnied in laughter as I jumped, and quieted below my icy glare. I nipped playfully at Trinna’s flank, and the filly squealed as she almost dodged my teeth.
   
“Moony, I thought we agreed when we were thirty, no more play-nipping! Those teeth hurt!”

“Sorry Trinna. What took so long? I thought you were called right after me,” I said sadly.

“I was called after you. I spent hours looking for you! The whole Varre did. We’re supposed to set out tonight. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Nay.”

“Well, come on! You have to see my coat! It is so pretty!” Trinna exclaimed. To my surprise, the color I saw in Trinna’s coat was a deep, bloody crimson. “Wow. Look at you!” I looked down at my legs, to find they sported the same stockings as the mare in my vision, on the same legs.
   
Trinna sported four black legs, and a pitch-dark mane and tail. Her dark brown eyes still glowed with the merry fire as usual.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Trinna, but your coat is very, ah, dramatic,” I said, uncertain how Trinna would react to my way of putting words.

“Thank you, you know I’ve always had a flair for drama!” Trinna responded, bounding off into the darkness. 

   
“Good thing the Brieljing is only a few days away! My hooves are about to fall off!” Trinna said as she stepped in place beside me in the column.

“I know. I’m excited, though, to see my sire again, and maybe find my mate. Do you know if they have secret names, too?” I asked, wondering.

“I don’t know. I suppose we’ll find out when we find out!” Trinna responded airily. She tossed her head as the column moved into a trot, attempting to reach the hills by dusk. I sighed, and trotted along.
 
That evening, the mares gathered around a fire, tended by one of the mares from the Shrinlaa. The ironclad warrior prodded the glowing coals with the tip of her horn. The tip of her alicorn glowed cherry-red, and she dipped it in the pool of icy water by the blaze. Whilst the fillies were lying down to sleep, Steelfoot stepped into the center of the circle they made. The throng of Shrinlaa assigned to them took their places guarding the Ring. Steelfoot stamped her hoof, demanding attention.

“Tonight, a story will be told to you; a story of peacemaking between the Varre and the serla.
   
Many ages ago, when my great-granddam was merely a foal, the stallions and the mares lived together in the Varre, ignorant of the serla or the Learling. The serla made a fatal mistake when they disturbed the Rite of Kashrenn, the Goddess of the Moon. The unicorns of the Varre attacked, leaving only one serla scout alive. That; however, was the fatal mistake of the Varre, leaving this scout alive. The mercy of the Varrens was their downfall. The camp of nearly two thousand Learling nearby attacked the Varre, thirsting for revenge, and to wipe out the religion of Kashrenn, as religious folk are wont to do. The Learling suffered terribly, but the Varre was nearly vanished.

Several years later, the two unicorn tribes made a treaty, agreeing this would never again happen. They also agreed they would send a volunteer stallion to the Brieljing. The agreement was that the treaty would stand as long as a stallion from the serla took a mate in the Varre, and after he would come to the Crags of Alia to live life there. The Varre, as much as they wanted peace, did not want a serla in their herds any more than a Brizza.
   
Therefore, though it was not intended, there rose a scorn for the mare that took the serla as her mate. Be careful of your choice, for you may not be accepted back into the herd. You may be run out, you three. No unicorn of the Varre has any love for the serla, and is perfectly willing to drive out its daughters. I despise this act, and never allow the Shrinlaa to participate, but we are the only ones. Once more, I warn you: do not expect to stay in the herd after being involved in a tryst with a serla.” Steelfoot shook her mane, and walked out of the circle.

“I’ve never heard it told that way, the Tale. I didn’t know that there was a serla in the Brieljing either. I hope I don’t-”

“Fillies! Fire out means mouths off!” a Shrinlaa called from the shadows. Trinna stuck out her tongue, but went to sleep.

I, unable to rest my mind, replayed the images in my head of the War. The Goddess of the Moon had been disrespected? I had been taught to respect and fear Kashrenn all my life, though the First Rite I had done was different from the others, involving I chopped a lock of my tail off, scratched a narrow gash in my foreleg, and mixed the blood and hair with the blood of my parents, and dipped my horn in it. This Ritual, done at three days old, promised the foal in question would forever be bonded to Kashrenn. It was unthinkable to a servant of Kashrenn that not all unicorns worshipped her. Kashrenn was the most real thing in my life. Was it possible, just maybe, that Kashrenn and Alia could be the same person? That perhaps ‘Kashrenn’ and ‘Alia’ were two names for the same deity. My mind reeled at this thought, having been brought up to believe that Kashrenn was the truth, and any other gods and goddesses were lies, or liars, that they, the Varre, were the true children of the Goddess of the Moon.
   
The next sunrise, the mountains of the Brieljing were a few hours away. The mares were excited to be so close. None of my age-mates were that eager, however, because they had yet to find mates, and the Shrinlaa had been many times and borne many foals. None of the fillies was eager to find that the stallion from the serla would be their mate, however handsome he could be.
   
That day, the valley of Brieljing was a short walk down the mountain. We could see the stallions lined up, waiting for us to arrive. The youngest, newly initiated stallions were in the front of the lineup, and the Shrinlaa’s mates in the second row,our sires third, and the other stallions last. Foremost in the young stallions was vivid, electric blue colored stallion. He held his head high and his bright crimson mane and tail floated in the light breeze.     
 
A splashy painted stallion, with purple and blue spots, reared up on his haunches, and he play-sparred with a greenish-blue unicorn, striking at his flanks. He scratched a thin line of blood, and an older stallion frowned, trotted to the wounded stallion and healed his wound. He then turned to the spotted stallion and scolded him. The spotted stallion flicked back his ears and snorted, as if a fly had flown into his nostrils. He seemed to shrug off his scolding as though it was merely a summer rain.

Hidden in the back of the unpaired stallions, visible only to my keen eyes, huddled the black-starred stallion. I felt my breath catch in my throat as the bright blue colt reared suddenly and strike at the serla. He winced and pulled away as the unsharpened horn of the attacker grazed his side. I noticed bewilderedly the blue colt was not reprimanded, nor was the serla healed as the blue-green. I laced back my ears and snorted as they passed out of sight, as the mares rounded a boulder.     
   
Numerous hours later, we began to descend the short walk into the Brieljing. The stallions raised a thunderous greeting, and the mountains reverberated with the echoes. The Shrinlaa, Steelfoot especially, greeted them boisterously. The other fillies whinnied reservedly, and a few pranced nervously. The Shrinlaa galloped to meet their mates, neighing all the while. The older stallions, the Shrinlaa’s mates, burst into a gallop just as swift as the warrior-mares.
   
The fillies, except for Trinna and me, cantered to meet the stallions. We hung back, until the stallions were clear of the newmares. I bounded up to the black serla. He raised his head in astonishment, clearly surprised any Varre mare would approach him. I instantly adored his voice, smooth as honey and just as sweet, the moment he spoke.

“You must be mistaken. Do you not see my hooves, my horn? Do you not see that I am not a Varren stallion?” he asked, bewildered.
   
“No, I can plainly see your heritage. I do not care,” I replied.

“I am glad. No mares have ever come by me. Who are you, brash mare?”

“My name is Moonstar. What is yours, inquisitive stallion?”

“The name my people gave me is Blackstar, though none here acknowledge it. They call me Blockhead, and Coward, for it does not please me to spar as the others do. Do you think me a coward?” he asked, blinking large black eyes at me.

“Nay, I don’t think you coward. Your name suits you, I believe,” I answered, gazing at his white-speckled coat.

“You look familiar, strange-colored mare. Have we met?” he asked, eyes shining curiously.

“Nay, I don’t think we have. Why you think me strange-hued?” I asked in return.

“Where I come from, none are flower-hued, o fair one. Among my people, I am strange colored. It was a good shock to see all these moon-bright unicorns among your people!” he replied softly.

“How long will you and your band of mares remain?” he said suddenly.

“For a few months, I believe. Until spring, at least. Though I believe I shall never again see the Varre, for reasons I can’t explain,” I replied, trotting off to the river.
   



“Chaka, bretn Blackstarr!” Hello, friend Blackstar! I cried through the willow trees lining the bank of the Jenja River. I pranced and tossed my head as Blackstar flashed in my sight.

I faintly heard him call, “Chaka, lenthras Moonstarr!” ‘Greetings, beloved Moonstar!’  He flashed in and out of the glade, prancing and dancing, in and out of the river. Diamond-like droplets of crystalline water danced in the air at each passing.
   
I danced with him, a Dance of the Varre, that I had taught him. I moved my split hooves in the delicate, light-footed steps of my people’s Moondance. The Moondance was danced in the darkmoon times, to keep evil spirits at bay and to bring forth the coming of the full moon.
   
I stopped dancing the Moondance when I came to the clear stream. I began the Waterdance. Many droplets of water swirled in the air. The silent music worked into fervor, and my legs began a new, unfamiliar Dance. My feet flew, but always they kept to the water. My voice flew from my throat, singing words I had never heard, in an unfamiliar language. The water thrown up by my hooves, instead of falling back to the earth, whirled into a vortex, shaping itself into a mirror.
   
The dancing stopped, though the singing didn’t. I beheld again the vision from the Dreamteller’s Pool. When the water cleared, I beheld Blackstar on the edge of the glade, staring at me with wide eyes.

“Hwenna,” he whispered, shaping his mouth around the strange word. I stiffened at the sound of my truename. I stood, dazed, as Blackstar crossed the glade to touch noses.

“How long… how long have you known?” Blackstar strained to catch my voice.

“I have always known the name. When I was a young foal, I had a vision of a lilac mare, you I see now. I never connected the two until I saw you doing exactly what my vision told me,” he replied.

“Then we have both seen one another in visions, my Jejr,” I whispered back to him, saying his true name.

“When will the full moon be, my beloved?” he asked, nuzzling my neck.

“Three days.”
   

On the night of the full moon, the stallions and mares pledged their mates. They were hidden from view of the others in the dense glade of willows. All assembled gasped when Blackstar and I came out of the glade together. The older stallions snorted and tossed their heads. I was interested to see that Trinna had taken the splashy paint stallion I had seen from the cliffs.
   
I went to stand by Trinna. Trinna’s mate pranced away, snorting angrily at Blackstar.

“Trinna, who have you taken to your side?” I asked.

“Hist, his name is Splatterdance. A fitting title, don’t you think?” Trinna replied, gazing coldly at Splatterdance. “For shame, love! You know that Blackstar will do you no harm! Why do you dance away like he is a wolf?” she asked angrily of Splatterdance.

“You may tolerate his presence, but I shall not stay. I will not meet with a blaspheming, cowardly serla!” he spat at Trinna, and dashed away.

“Well, my blood-friend, you have chosen a fiery one, I’ll tell you!”

“Aye and he’s rude, too,” Blackstar grumbled.

“Hist, love! Let us leave them in peace,” I said gaily.
   
As the days rolled serenely by, the two of us strayed further and further away from the herd, roaming the valley side-by-side. Each night, I was troubled by disturbing dreams I couldn’t remember, with vague impressions of fsnow. To quiet my troubles in the sunlight, we would dance, or sing the legends and songs of our different peoples, and learn the other’s tongue. Soon, we were fluent in the languages.
   
“Ah, my Jejr, the days have been peaceful. However, now, we must graze ’till we cannot eat any more, each day. My bones tell me of a hard winter we’ll have. My dreams say we shall spend our snowy days high up, in mountains,” I confided to Blackstar one day when fall nipped the air.

“Your dreams may be correct. You must graze much more, though. The foal will need all the nourishment it can get,” Blackstar responded, nuzzling my neck.


Autumn months grew longer, and the forage lean. The mares-in-foal stayed in the Cave of Elders, while their mates gathered more forage to add to stores. Each passing day saw my sides swell, almost none of the food going to fat.



Two mares lay side-by-side, one a delicate lilac, the other a bold red. On both, their sides were huge, and their bellies belled out by pregnancy. Suddenly, the red mare gasped, her sides rippling in pain. “Call the healer!” the lilac mare cried. A sable stallion cantered out of the shadows, his stubby horn gleaming in faint firelight. “Birth pangs,” he said matter-of-factly. He called to an apprentice to bring him the birth herbs. “No…too soon…lose…foal…not until…equinox,” the red mare moaned. The lilac mare lay beside the red one, whispering soft words. A splashy paint stallion galloped up a few minuets later, and shoved the lilac mare out of his way.

Though it felt like hours, the healer finally stood and walked away- the foal had been delivered. The red mare reached around over her flank, nosed something lying in the shadows, and let forth a wail of sorrow. The stallion did the same, and bellowed his grief. That could only mean one thing- the foal was stillborn. The stallion rounded on the mare in the shadows.

“Witch! Sorceress, demon, evil spirit of darkmoon!” he screamed. The lilac mare cowered in the shadows and flinched away as he lunged at her. His horn pierced the flesh of her foreleg, and a night-dark stallion, spattered with stars, bellowed anger. He flew at the purple-and-blue stallion with rage, and parried his blows with a straight, silvery horn. He downed the angry stallion and pressed his horntip to the defeated stallion’s throat.

“Do not fly at my mate. If you hurt her, or the foal she carries, I will kill you. You are meat to be wasted; your blood will fall on rock and nourish nothing. Do you understand? I will kill you,” the star-spattered stallion whispered menacingly.

“Witch, outlaw’s mate. She caused the early birth of my firstborn. Now my foal is dead, and it is her doing. I will have revenge,” the pied stallion replied hoarsely. The stallion got up, and then…
   

I woke with a gasp. My limbs were flailing. Blackstar had a shallow gash in his shoulder, presumably from my cleft heels.

“Sweet, is anything wrong?” he asked, concern in his eye.

“No. Nothing. Just a bad dream,” I replied, gasping. I resisted the impulse to race to Trinna, to see if part of my dream was true. ‘If any of it is,’ I thought grimly, ‘I’ll knock the fire out from under Splatterdance’s tail! After all, I am the only unicorn here besides Blackstar who knows the art of the serla’s fighting!’
   
“Moonstar! How fare thee?” Trinna called across the cave.

“I fare well. And how do you fare?” I called back. She waited until I had trotted over to her, and said, “The cold pains me to the bones. I remind myself of my granddam; always complaining of how the snow had made her bones ache since her Naming!” We laughed at this remark, seeing, as it was true for both our granddams.
   
My friend’s fluffy coat, barely showing the black-stockings on her legs, was a lighter crimson than usual. The color was almost pink, a washed-out color of red. Her mahogany eyes were dull, and she looked sickly, despite her bouncy attitude. I could see the winter was taking its toll on her.

She shook herself, and said, “Don’t stand out here in the cold. Come into the grotto.” The grotto smelled sickly, like the pungent fumes of the crushed herbs used by the healers. I resolved not to mention anything to Trinna, so as not to lower her spirits any more.
   
We talked of menial things, such as the weather on our sides of the valley. When we came to how we each spent our days, she walked slowly, talking all the while, over to a bed of dried grasses. She struck her horn against a black rock, and a spark flew onto a pile of twigs. She placed two logs on the fire, and it blazed up on the dry wood. The cave grew warmer, filling the chamber with a dark smoke.
   
I coughed, and Trinna blew sharply on the smoke. The blaze jumped up, and the smoke vanished. Side-by-side we lay, warmed by the fiery glare. Suddenly, Trinna gasped, and her eyes rolled in her head.

“Call the healer!” I cried, and a yearling colt ran out. I comforted Trinna through her pain until the healer arrived.
   
The sable stallion cantered in, all exactly like my dream. “Birth pangs,” he stated.

“Not…now…due in…spring…lose the foal…not ’till…equinox…” Trinna moaned. I lay back down next to her, and whispered that she would come out okay.
 
Splatterdance galloped hard as thunder into the cave. I was pushed out of the way, and he lay beside Trinna. After what seemed like hours, long, long hours, the healer rose and walked out, leaving the newborn and parents alone, but for me. Trinna reached around and nuzzled the foal, and let out a wail of despair. Splatterdance did the same. The colt was stillborn, as I knew he would be. I readied myself to fight.

The pied stallion turned on me, and wailed, “Witch! Sorceress, demon, evil spirit of the darkmoon!” He lunged at me, but I met him head on, knocked away his horn. He heaved his weight at me again, and again I parried his blow. This time I struck first, fencing with my horn and striking with my forelegs. I caught him off guard, because I knew that he would be surprised at my fighting technique.
   
He had not expected me to attack, nor even to fight. As he stood confused, I flew out of the cave. I raced to my cave, only to find Blackstar gone. I hurriedly struck a small fire outside, and took the small blanket the elves had given him before his journey here in my teeth. I flapped the blanket over the smoky fire, producing puffs of smoke. Moments later, Blackstar hurtled up the hillside. He had a clump of herbs in his teeth.

“What’s wrong?” he gasped.

“Trinna’s foal- stillborn. Splatterdance blames me. We must leave,” I responded, trotting into the cavern.
   
“But why?” he asked.

“Really, love, who do you think the Counsel would believe, a young stallion that made a ‘respectable’ marriage, or a mare who wed you? I love you, but I don’t think you’ve any unicorn here that would stand up for any of your family,” I responded.

I packed the kindling and a couple of small logs into a pack, and tossed them over to the side. I took another pack and filled it with the herbs and some dried grass, enough to last us until we got to the Greenplain. I threw one blanket over my mate to ward off cold, and then tossed the wood-bearing pack on top of that. I fastened the pack’s straps over his chest, and told him to do the same with the other blanket and pack.
   
As he did so, I cast out a small bit off magic, the only thread I possessed, and sent it hurtling towards the cave that Trinna occupied. In the thread, I had wrapped the message, “Meet me at the glade, tonight when the moon reaches its zenith. I’ll be waiting.” 

   
I stood by the rippling stream, now icy cold, in the glade. The moon was nearing its zenith, yet still I was alone. I waited for what seemed like hours, until I felt the vibrations of hooves. I melted into the shadows, in case the hooves I felt weren’t Trinna’s. After all, the Council might believe Splatterdance, and send their warriors after me.
   
The hoofbeats grew nearer, closer still. They felt light, as a mare’s, but they could have sent the Shrinlaa. As the single figure topped the rise, trotting, I couldn’t make out the color. The figure entered the trees, and I could see that it was certainly none of the Shrinlaa by its shape, the look of a mare recently foaled. It was Trinna!
   
She whickered uncertainly, as though I might not be there! Her coat was slick and shiny, and for a moment, I feared she was a ghost. But then my reason caught up with me, and I smelled the cattain gel she must have smeared through her hide. I whinnied a greeting, and she pricked her ears. The moon was atop the Sky Mountain as I galloped to meet her.

I touched my nose to hers and said, “Goodbye my friend. Blackstar and I are setting off on the Plain, to Kael Marïâ where his people live.” She laughed softly.

“Setting out on the Plain, eh? I always knew you could not lead a sheltered life here in the Valley. Swift running and good forage my friend,” she said softly.
   
That night, Blackstar and I set out, galloping hard under the moon, as full as the night we pledged. We detoured around the rim of the valley after we scaled the walls, so none of the watchers around the fire in the center would see us. I followed Blackstar as he soared across the Plain just outside the valley, his hooves barely resting on the ground a moment. I struggled to keep pace with him through the night, though as the sun rose I finally called halt. In the chilly dawn air, I saw that Blackstar was panting, his breaths great puffs of mist.
     
“We…must…walk,” he gasped. As we walked through the mist, Blackstar began to pull ahead of me. Suddenly, he disappeared from view. I squealed, and suddenly he appeared again, on the other side of a small hill. I abruptly slid down a gully, grassy and wet. I struggled to climb the other side, slipping down repeatedly.
   
I slipped down many more gulches like that over the course of the day, and I discovered that this Plain was not a smooth, unbroken sea of snow. As night fell, I took out a log and some tinder to start a small fire. Blackstar burrowed into the snow, and revealed dried grasses hidden underneath. That twilight we supped as if it was summer, feasting until we could devour no more. Then we stuffed my packs with this dried Plain-grass. Salty and delicious, it tasted like the sky and wind.
   
On the fifth day of our travel, early in the morning, a tiny flake- barely a dewdrop- of snow fell and melted on my muzzle. Soon another followed, then another. The wind began to shriek, and snow fell faster.

Blackstar shouted above the storm, “Make haste to a shelter! A snowfall of the Greenplain is upon us!” I struggled to keep up with him, but my burgeoning belly hindered my pace.
   
I sheltered on the leeward side of a great hill, moving to the gully as the wind shifted direction. I spent the night in a small hole, barely more than an opening in the rock shelf. All night I spent huddled in the dark hole, listening to the raging tempest outside. I had many hours to think of Blackstar, wondering what had happened when we were separated.
   
The next morn, I shuffled out of the nearly blocked opening, digging my way through the snows as I traveled. I found the carcasses of kronnä, the giant Greenplain-wolves, huge beasts. I shivered as I passed their bodies. Any single one of those creatures could easily have taken down any warrior in a single bound. I searched each one of the snowy mounds, and occasionally found the body of a Tarish unicorn, one of the Greenplain’s inhabitants.
   
As hours passed and still the snowdrifts showed no signs of my beloved, I began to fear that I would never find him. I feared that I would lose my way on the vast Greenplain, that I would starve, or never find my way to his forest, or that I would be left to birth and raise a fatherless filly, never to know the joy of having a loving sire. I would not wish that fate on any, having experienced it myself.
   
The darkness of night caught me unawares. The night fell so much swifter here than in the Varre. I wandered that night, not sleeping. When the dawn came, I pawed at the snow, hoping to uncover the Plain-grass. What little I did find was dried and dead, without any nutrients.
    Searching for a waterhole, I stumbled upon a band of Tarish, three mares and their foals, and three stallions. The apparent leader was a dark blue stallion, sided by a silvery-blue mare and gold-dust filly.
“Halt! Who cometh to our drinking pool?” the stallion called.

At the same time, the mare cried, “Who cometh to the sacred Waters of Garn, Goddess-of-the-Moon?”

“’Tis I, Hwen Blacksmate, lost upon the Greenplain!” I called back, joyous to find other unicorns at last, no matter their breed.
   
“From whence hail thou?” the silver-and-blue mare bellowed. “I hail from- uh- from the South! I was journeying to the North when a storm caught me!” I shouted back. “May I come nearer?”

She turned to her mate, and presumably repeated my query.

“Yes, strange mare, thee may join us!” the stallion called out, though he did not seem happy. I struggled to trot through the snow, chest high. The band stayed where they were, so when I finally reached them, I did not need travel further.
   
Introductions were made, and names were learned. I introduced myself as Hwen. The silver-and-blue mare was Icemane, her foal Renna, a white-and-green spotted filly, her mate Silverwither. A reddish-orange mare was named Flameback, her foal Blustr, a light-blue colt, and her mate Smokeleg, a white stallion with his off-foreleg a smoky black. Crystalmire was a brindled gray mare, Goldstone a dark golden stallion with a creamy mane and tail. Their foals were Jada, a dark green filly, and Hematite, a jet-black colt.       
   
I felt wary around these Greenplain-dwellers, for I had heard rumors about how they would kill Varren unicorns. It soon became apparent, though, that they lived much like the Varre-dwellers, with close family bonds. After a few days of traveling, I dug up some kindling, along with a bush, and set them upon a flint-rock. I struck my horn against the rock, and the kindling caught flame. I broke a small branch off a nearby tree, and set it close to the burning kindling. It soon dried out, and I set it on the fire.
   
The flame fascinated the Greenplain-dwellers, as though they could not spark fire. Icemane told me they had never seen flame before, and they could not strike a spark. The foals were old enough to eat their grass, but they looked skinny, as though they had not eaten in more than a few moons. I offered them small bundles of Plain-grass, and they ate it greedily. I did the same for their parents, but they refused, and said I needed it more than they did.
   
When we had finished eating, I helped the adults dig up grasses while Crystalmire watched the foals play in the snow. They gobbled up a small bit of what we found, which was not much. I took what I found and laid it by the fire to dry. I chewed through the knot on my pack that carried the grass, and over-turned it. Bundles of grass fell out, and I gave two each to the adults.

“Thou need it more than we, Hwen! Thou need it for thy foal!” they protested.

“Nay, I have a good layer of fat to shield me from cold. You do not. Eat it,” I said.

She stayed with the band of Tarish until spring, when the snows melted. They followed her across the Greenplain, for they did not want to leave her. She accepted their offer to travel with her until they came to the Forest of the Elves. Each day, her belly bulged wider and wider.
   
   
We grazed on the Greenplain from noon to dusk, feasting on the spring abundance of grass. Each night as we lay to sleep and as we traveled across the Plain, I watched for Blackstar. I made friends of the mares and their little ones. Gradually, I picked up their tongue, and we conversed thus. Theirs was a formal language, full of ‘thee’s’ and ‘thou’s’ and ‘thine’, such words.
   
The grass grew at an alarming rate, but Icemane assured me, “Worry not, friend. The grass upon the Greenplain doth grow fast. This turn, though, it goes slowly upon the hills, greening. And Growtime this turn cometh slow.” That did not assure me, though I was glad I had come in this slower springtime.
   
As the days grew longer, closer to the equinox, we set off westward across the Greenplain.

“Whence do we go?” I asked on the fifth day of travel.

“We doth go to the Coming, called on the First Night of Lakik, Growtime, spring. Those of the Lenlalay call it the equin-ox,” Crystalmire told me as we trotted along. I suddenly remembered the days spent traveling with Trinna to the Brieljing. How long ago that seemed now!           
   
“Crystalmire,” I asked, “will all of the Tarish, and any other unicorn who doth know, will they be at this Coming?”

“Oh, yes! All Tarish will be at the Coming. It is Custom!”

“You have many Customs…as do my people,” I said slowly. “And do you think that Blackstar might have joined up with a group of the Tarish?” I asked, after a long pause.

“He might have, if he found a water hole; in winter, all of us go to our waterholes, for the food,” she replied, snatching a bit of grass.
   
It was rather funny to watch us all moving through the grass, which now came up over our hocks and knees, up to our ribs. We looked like phantoms.
   
Early in the morning, we set out again. A cold mist hugged our bodies, chilly and wet. As we drew nearer to the Coming, so too did equinox grow nearer.
“Icemane,” I queried that morn, “What is the purpose of the Coming?”

“Oh, ’tis wonderful! We all gather to dance long into the night, to get new young. On the second day of Growtime, all the year-old colts and fillies are allowed to choose a name, though some keep their birth-name. Then comes story telling, the recounting of history, and then we depart,” she answered.
   
The foals gamboled in the grass, rearing and kicking. Suddenly, Jada squealed and ran towards Crystalmire. She abruptly reared again, whites around her eyes. The other foals sprang off in a desperate gallop towards their dams.  My head shot up to scent the wind. Uh-oh. That smell was of a Brizza, the large hunting cats.
   
I plunged toward the foal, horn lowered. Icemane circled out behind her, and Crystalmire came in from the side. Flameback charged in from the other side, and we all converged on the cats. A bone-chilling scream rent the early morning silence. As soon as the cat was dead, Crystalmire ran to her filly. Jada stayed close to her dam all that day.
   
The next morning, Silverwither reared onto his haunches. “Look! The Coming! I see it!” he neighed, and sprang into a gallop. We all followed in a headlong run. The unicorns were gathered at a large rock jutting out over a river.
   
As the dancing began, Icemane and Silverwither disappeared into the long grass. When I looked around, I saw only the elders, the yearlings, and the foals left in the Plains-grass. All of the adults were dancing the Pledgedance in the cover night’s blue veil.
   
Slowly, the adults returned to the stone. The pairs lay down beside their sleeping foals. I lay alone in the grass, chilled. The stars shone down on me, their gaze a twinkling smile. In contrast, the moon glared down, her gaze icy. As the moon rounded the mountains in the distance, I finally slept. 

                                        *DREAM SEQUENCE*
A young stallion galloped across the Greenplain. His ragged coat was black as night, spattered with silver stars. I tried to call out to this stallion, to tell him where I was. He did not seem to hear me. He came upon an elder stallion, blue with gray-green streaks. They converged, touching noses.

The younger stallion asked, “Have you found her yet?”

The senior replied, “Nay, Prince. She is still unseen. Mayhap you should go to the Elfqueen and ask her.” The black stallion bowed low, and galloped off like thunder to the North.
                                        *END DREAM SEQUENCE*
   
Dawn broke watery blue and fiery red. As morning stars faded, a dappled gray mare, a long way past her first youth, staggered onto the stone.

“Good friends, welcomed guests, today dawns the second day of Lakik! Yestereve thee danced thy Pledgedances. Though I am well past my own days, I recall them well. Many a good foal I nursed, some of thee are those, whilst some may be grandchildren! Oh, how seasons’ passing have flown by. But no more of that talk! Let us now welcome our weanlings, the yearlings, my sons’ and daughters’ get, into our circles!” she whinnied. I was surprised at the smoothness of her voice, like honey when I expected to hear only creaking scratches from this old one.
   
The gathered Tarish whinnied and reared as the year-olds lined up. A tall black pranced nervously. The old mare whistled, and the black filly cantered onto the rock. “I have chosen my grown name to be Galena. So shall I be called from this day till my death!” she bowed, and swiftly departed the rock.
   
After all of the yearlings had chosen their names, the stories began. The first was a tale of a heroine called Herone, who made a peace with the winged dragons of the mountains. Another was of a simple Tarish who cared only for his good grass becoming the greatest Healer in their history. The stories lasted long into dusk, stretching into the moonlit hours.
   
As morning dawned, I found myself alone, but for my friends. They stood off away, grazing. I struggled to get up, and walked over to them. Jada, now called Greenstône, looked at me. The filly ran over and nipped my flank. I gently nipped her back, and asked Crystalmire why they were looking at me that way.

“Thee slept for two days, Hwen. I suppose the Growing Feast was too much for thy stomach!” she said with a grin.

“I thank thee all for waiting for me,” I said, aghast I had slept that long.
   
All that afternoon we traveled, rounding the hills and gullies. Once, Greenstône scented a Brizza, but we left the area. When we reached a spring of water, a young dappled blue stallion, with a smooth alicorn and round hooves, galloped up. He drew in long water.

“Are one among you Blackstar’s mate?” he asked.

“Aye. Why?” I asked, suspicious.

“I have been sent to find a lilac-hued Varren mare of around one hundred years, heavy in foal, a blaze and two molten silver stockings. Are you Moonstar Marenasget of the Varre?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “Who sent you?”

“The Prince of the Elfish Unicorns, Blackstarr fel Kennoen. Son of Delmerâ dan Kennoen and Hapstr, daughter of Jaen fel Kennoen, son of-”

“Okay! We get it! He is descendant from a long royal line!” Greenstône interrupted him.
   
“Good. Come with me back to the Elvin Palace,” he said with relief.

“No. not without my friends.” I turned to my group of companions. “Will you come? Please? I couldn’t leave you behind on the Greenplain.”
   
“Nay! The Queen, Delmerâ dan Kennoen and Hapstr, already must put you and your wretched half-blood offspring up in her palace, but to have to put up a gaggle of Tarish inbreeders? Never! Oh, the indecency!” the blue colt broke in.
   
“Then ye shan’t have me along too! Ye can tell my mate that I will not leave this Plain without my friends, and the reason he does not have his mate and daughter with him is because you shall not travel with, as you put it, ‘Tarish inbreeders.’ See what my mate has to say to that!” I said coldly.
    “No. I was forbidden to return without you. You shall come with me by your will, or by mine!”
    He laid back his ears, and lunged at me, teeth bared. I was too heavy with foal to duck completely out of his way. I neighed with pain at his sharp teeth grazing my shoulder. I slipped on a patch of wet grass, and fell down hard.
    The stallion towered over me like a tree, glaring down. He pressed his horntip to my throat, whispered, “Yield now, or die.” For the sake of my unborn, I was ready to surrender, when suddenly- the stallion disappeared from my range of vision as suddenly as snowdrops. I clambered to my feet.
    Smokeleg, Silverwither, and Goldstone had the stallion down on the ground, with Goldstone and Silverwither lying on his legs. Smokeleg pressed his horntip to the stallion’s throat, and thundered, “How dare you try to murder a mare that is in foal? How dare you call yourself a unicorn, whatever breed you may be, and attempt to commit murder on a mare?”
    The younger stallion glared up at him, with an icy gaze. He thrust his horn up at Smokeleg’s throat, but missed; his horn was too short. For a moment, as this young one struggled under the horntip, I saw an anger flash in his eyes, a hatred so deep ad wretched, that I thought my tail was singed. 
  Smokeleg dropped his horntip from the colt’s neck. He scrambled to his hooves, and spat at Smokeleg’s feet. Smokeleg moved his hoof from the flying saliva’s way, and lowered his horn in a challenge.
    The youngster did at least know that much about fighting. He lowered his own horn, and began calling taunts at Smokeleg. “Stupid inbreeder! Who’s your mate? The orange-red one? Your sister?” such taunts as that. Smokeleg paid him no heed, and circled him. He charged his flank, catching the colt unawares.
    “Methinks thee should keep thy mouth closed and thy ears to the wind, ill-bred Elfcolt!” Flameback shouted, harrying the colt.
“Flame of waters,
Waters of fire,
Burning pillar ever higher,
Fan the fire and feed the flame,
Burn the grass in Henna’s name!”
Crystalmire chanted, drawing a circle in the grass. A ring of fire jumped up around the two, singing the colt’s tail. He squealed and jumped straight into Smokeleg’s bared teeth.
    Smokeleg’s teeth rent a gash in the colt’s neck, not deep but very long. The young stallion lunged with his blunt-tipped alicorn, fire in his eyes. Smokeleg parried the blow with a laughable ease, horn striking with the ring of hoof on stone.
    The fight did not last very long; the colt was half the size of his opponent, and though his style was decent, he did not ken the fashion of the Tarish fighting, all skill and silence, lest they alert a hungry grass-cat of their presence. The colt went down, Smokeleg’s horn pressed fatally on his windpipe. “Surrender,” Smokeleg hissed, pressing down. The colt struggled, but was unable to get free.
    Finally, the colt gave up, and muttered, “You win. I shall leave and be gone. Begotten in lawfulness, I, Kenan fel Leerkl, of the Elfish Unicorns ruled by Delmerâ dan Kennoen. I shall leave this Plain, never to return, as honor demands.”
    Smokeleg removed his horntip from Kenan’s throat, letting the stallion rise. He shook his bruised and battered frame, tossing his flashy mane. “But,” he shrieked, “I’ll not leave without the Princess!”       
    He shied away as Smokeleg lunged at him, teeth bared. “Nay, love! Do not harm him more!” Flameback whistled. Smokeleg abruptly stopped, confused. “I shall deal with him,” Crystalmire whinnied. She pranced a little, and plucked a bundle of Plain-grass. She whispered a word in her native language, and the colt, which had been fleeing, stopped stock still in his tracks, mid-stride.
    She wove the grass into a short rope, and wrapped one end around the colt’s shank. His eyes looked terrified, and I could not blame him. Crystalmire stepped back, and chanted:
“Grass of my homeland,
Aid me my friend,
To save my dearest and nearest ally,
From a dreadful end.
Remove the memory
Of our enemy,
Blank his mind
To his cause here,
The orders he was given
By his Queen,
Now he cannot remember, nor can be seen.
Remove remembrance of
Our meeting this day,
Heal his wounds and keep him away!”

    The colt’s eyes misted over for a moment. The wounds upon his breast and neck, along his flanks and shanks, healed, knitting under the skin first. Crystalmire removed the coil of grass-rope from his leg, and his eyes snapped back into focus.
    He galloped away from the band, surging away at breakneck speed. He slipped, fell, and got up. He continued on his way, just as fast. I glimpsed his bluish tail flying over a hillside, coursing swiftly.

    ********SORRY ABOUT THE CUTS. EDITING MADE IT TOO BIG. I WILL BE POSTING THE CUT PEICES IN A SEPERATE FILE. AGAIN, SORRY.********