| SHORT STORY | ‘I didn’t mean to do it, I didn’t mean to do it,’ he found himself saying, over and over, as he was suddenly back in the clearing, the unicorn’s blood running over his hand and legs. The dark eyes looked up at him, silent but full of pain. He stared into them, wondering at the lack of accusation. The unicorn was not his enemy. His shame was not her fault. Her death would not block out his darkness. ‘Not again.’ He threw the knife away, heard it clatter against a stone. His throat seemed thick as he spluttered, ‘I’m not leaving another to die.’
He turned, crushed something under his boots. He opened his eyes to the shine of flowers. A trail led to the cottage. He pushed himself away from the barn, and followed the blooms. The flowers continued into the door, then stopped halfway across the floor, petals of white and red gleaming against the dark planks. They spread in the direction of Elspeth’s bedchamber. Stepping slowly, carefully into the cottage, he crossed over to the room. He took a deep breath, then opened the door. ‘Elspeth?’
He bent down and tried to pick up the unicorn. But with only one arm, he could not, and he found himself cursing in frustration. I’ll have to drag her, then, was a sudden, lucid thought. He undid his jacket, managed to get it around the unicorn’s belly. Then he began the long journey back to the cottage. The journey took on the nightmarish unreality of his dreams. Time and again the coat sleeves would pull loose from his hand. Or the unicorn would slip off the material, and he would have to lift her back onto the jacket. The forest floor, which had seemed so smooth when he had walked along it earlier, was now full of rocks and dips, and each time the unicorn was jarred, he seemed to feel it in his own body.
‘Come in.’ He obeyed, treading cautiously into the chamber. Elspeth was in the bed, a dishevelled mass of hair, leaves, and flowers spreading across her pillow. She said calmly, ‘A bed be more comfortable than a barn, and it lacks the cow dung.’
Finally the cottage was in sight. He carefully dragged the battered jacket and its precious cargo to the barn, shooing the cow out to spread the unicorn across the straw. She was more grey than white now, her hooves dulled. But her horn still gleamed, exposing every knot in the rough planks. Robert made sure she was comfortable, then staggered to the cottage. ‘Elspeth?’ he called out. ‘We need herbs, and blankets, and water. Elspeth, I’ve brought the unicorn to the barn!’ There was no answer. He looked through the rooms, then hurried back outside, checking the woods nearby. Desperate, he returned to the barn, opening the door and expecting the worst. The unicorn was gone. He closed his eyes, felt a new pain go through him. Did unicorns go off to die on their own, like dogs did? She can’t die, he thought fiercely. I can’t let her die. 28 | UncagedBooks.com
Robert found himself shaking. He groped his way to the wall, resting his back against it before looking down at her. His voice seemed very small and far away. ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘Do you not, dear Robert?’ She smiled, shifted. The blankets fell back, revealing a deep, bloody wound in her left shoulder. ‘Why didn’t you tell me who you are?’ The room seemed to be spinning around him, and he pressed himself more firmly against the wall. ‘Why did you let me hunt you?’ ‘You must tell me, Robert. Tell me why you hunt me.’ ‘I did tell you why,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Because you wouldn’t heal me.’ ‘That be not the real reason, be it?’ Elspeth asked gently. ‘Think back, Robert. Remember that night on the battlefield, when I appeared to you? Remember how I lowered me horn to you, so that you might be healed? What did you do? Tell me, what did you do?’ His fingers dug into the clay wall. The lies he had constructed were falling around him, and he didn’t know what he might be able to cling to once they were gone. ‘I refused,’ he whispered. ‘I refused to let you heal me.’ ‘We have spent a long winter together under this roof. Can you now trust me with your heart, and tell