Horrible little creatures. Imagine they can capture me. In their greeds and hates and perverse lusts -- twisted lusts -- they cannot help but track me, find me, be trampled and skewered by me.
*crunch*
"He got Roger!"
Surely they understand their dirtiniess, their unworthiness to touch me? -- Oh, of course. They do, well.
That's why.
Well. Maybe it's time to show them some speed.
(gurgle)
"Fall back! Where's the dogs?"
If only one of them were pure. For a moment of purity with a worthy partner--
To be ridden. Yes, I would even risk their grubby hands for a moment with a true rider's fingers in my mane. I wonder if that's wrong?
Well. Maybe it's time to show them some speed.
Voices fall far behind. The joy of the run.
They'll never get me.
Unicorn Story
by Conrad Cook
Written in Ramus.
Oh, she is beautiful. And I was just here to drink from the stream, here past the waterfall where the waters are swift and clear.
Maybe they think I forgot their attempt last week. Maybe they think I'll risk myself for one like her.
Whatever they think, they're right. breath hot on the skin of her neck Why doesn't she look up?
Then I'll have to lay my head in her lap.
Now. Now I can look her in the eye. Transfixed.
Does she know? Not yet.
Pretty thing, she thinks. Stupid creatures that can not call purity purity. Does she know? -- Look and see.Pretty like me. They want him like they want me.
("Not yet lads," he wispers, thinking he is quiet. "Let it settle in.")
It heard. Not it -- he. He heard. And he's willing to be trapped for me. Stupid thing. He is a he.
Rider and ridden: she has no idea. Not yet.
Such a beautiful white coat.
For his magic horn. Their own horns are nothing magic.
The horn is life. Life that kills: Of course they want it. Would he let me touch it?
(Yes. Touch it.)
--Not yet.
Always. For years now. Every day. Mother says I should be glad. I won't always be young, she says. But that thing they want--
(Yes. I understand.)
Soon. Caught in a trap. With me as bait.
(But we can ride out together. Touch the horn.)
"We always trap an animal with what it wants," Gareth likes saying.
--Him or me?
His sweet talk. His promises. This beast thinks I am like him. He doesn't understand me for nothing. He is wild. I, tame. Oh you poor thing.
To make me a princess. Such folly. Am I a child?
But surely it means he will do something. Or he couldn't say it -- he wouldn't be allowed.
This horse will have nothing to do with men. He doesn't--
("It's working, lads. Give it a moment. Don't let's rush.")
I know you feel them there. But you don't act. Oh why don't you act?
(And what would you have me do?)
I need men.
I should touch it. Just -- lay my hand on it. My little weak hand, not like Gareth's. When he held me that night. Hands like iron. My soft white hand, softly on that horn. Is he asleep yet? He's looking right at me.
I don't dare look away!
You have no idea.
(You poor stupid thing.)
Well, I must remember my loyalties.
What does this beast need? With its horn? With its love of the wilds?
--Oh.
It needs me.
Oh you idiot.
What are you, some man to be beguiled by a pretty face?
(Contempt.)
(She does not realize what she is.)
To be "held in contempt." If he breaks his vow.
And he did hold me in contempt, too.
It wasn't the business. I just wanted a friend.
It wasn't the business. Not at first.
Gareth told me I would develop a taste for it. And he was right.
Well, I'm here.
(Friends--)
I didn't want that sloppy business, that ugly business. Not at first.
(--are rare.)
Just a big horse, isn't it?
Nothing more than that.
Haha, this horse thinks he has power, but he doesn't know what power is!
Just a horse with a horn.
(An urgent whisper he thinks is quiet: "All right, lads. Ropes tied down? Clubs ready? Lancers--hold back. Don't let's damage the pelt.")
My God look away Madeline! He can't--"
(She knows.)
He knows.
(Transfixed.)
I don't want to be still anymore! Gareth! Come quickly!
(You poor stupid thing. You thought you were a trap?)
He knows what I've done. It's not just the horn.
Look away, Madeline! Blink! Unstill yourself!
No I didn't. I did not!
HE FORCED ME. Do you understand that, horse?
HE FORCED ME. The first time at least.
I had no choice. I made sure I wouldn't. And then he was -- I was his.
I was lonely.
He made me. I never wanted it. To be a princess. Folly.
I never wanted the long white coat.
And the men will get the horn.
Now you know, horse with a horn. Can I go now?
(I must be certain. Touch the horn.)
Just like Gareth.
She lays her gentle hand on my horn and I know. I know her. See her completely. She wanted the coat.
This thing will never taint my back.
The men creep out of the woods around us. Ropes and clubs and lancers, all terrified. All utterly terrified.
With reason.
Rear!
They will never get me.