She was up immediately, but now roots humped under her feet as she ran, and others burrowed as busily as moles to cut across the path. He roared once again, and a great branch clubbed her on the shoulder so hard that she staggered and fell. Behind her they were breaking like glass in the rush of the Red Bull. The trees lunged at her, and she veered wildly among them she who slipped so softly through eternity without bumping into anything. Fear blew her dark then, and she ran away, while the Bull's raging ignorance filled the sky and spilled over into the valley. The Red Bull did not know her, and yet she could feel that it was herself he sought, and no white mare. But dragons could only kill her - they could never make her forget what she was, or themselves forget that even dead she would still be more beautiful than they. She was immortal, but she could be killed: by a harpy, by a dragon or a chimera, by a stray arrow loosed at a squirrel. The unicorn had never been afraid of anything.
The Red Bull bellowed again, and leaped down after her. Then the light of her horn went out, and she turned and fled. His horns were as pale as scars.įor one moment the unicorn faced him, frozen as a wave about to break. A terrible light poured from him like sweat, and his roar started landslides flowing into one another. He was the color of blood, not the springing blood of the heart but the blood that stirs under an old wound that never really healed.
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