Dark Moon

With a gay shriek, the coppery mare twisted free of him, and halted stiff-legged, panting. Jan wheeled and also plunged to a halt, breathing heavily. His companion stood looking at him with her bright, brown eyes. She laughed again, pawing at the sand with one round, solid hoof, swished her long-haired, silky tail against one flank, her beardless chin held up impertinently. How like and yet unlike a unicorn she was!

Laughing, he shouldered against her. She nipped him lightly, a playful champ—then started back with a cry of alarm as the shadow of some winged thing in the air above fleeted over them. Jan, too, looked up, then wheeled and stared. A blue-pinioned shape was diving toward them out of the cloudless morning sky.

“Get behind me, Ryhe

Above them, the winged figure banked suddenly, rearing back. Its elongated pinions stroked the air as it touched down with a spindle-shanked, gangling grace on the golden sand. Jan stared. Though all over dusty blue—the color of a gryphon formel—the creature before them was much smaller than a wingcat.

It stood upright on two lanky, coral legs. Its slender neck crooked, head tilting from side to side, examining him and Ryhe

“What is it, my lord?” she whispered. “Is it a gryphon?”

Jan whickered with relief. “Nay,” he cried, euphoria filling him. “No enemy, but a friend. Greetings, Tlat, queen of the seaherons. Well met!”

The queen of the wide-roving windriders nodded, mincing toward them across the sand. “Greetings!” she shrieked. “Greetings, Jan-prince! Welcome, welcome. We feared cat-eagles had seized you. We feared you lost!”

Jan fought the impulse to rush forward and rub shoulders with Tlat as he would with one of his own people. The delicate herons, he knew, were ever wary of being knocked down or trampled by the heavy hooves of unicorns. The young prince restrained himself, keeping his heels planted and still.

“Not lost,” he assured Tlat. “Not seized by gryphons—though I was pursued by them. A terrible storm swept me out to sea. It has taken me all this time to find my way back.”

“Ah!” cried the heron queen. “So the cat-eagle spoke truth after all. We thought he lied to save himself. But who is your companion? What is this odd, hornless one that stands beside you?”

Jan blinked, lost for a moment. The darting thoughts of herons shifted like the winds. Tlat stood craning and eyeing Ryhe

“Color of sunsets! Color of burning!” the heron queen exclaimed. “Such a hue among unicorns we have never seen. And round feet—not pairs of half-moon toes, but only single ones: solid as a mussel shell, round as the ripe egg of the moon. Amazing! Where is your beard, burning-colored mare? Where is your horn?”

Ryhe

“Two-foots? Two-foots?” cackled Tlat. “My tribe know something of these. They glide the waves in great hollowed-out treefish. Sometimes we see their windwings on our journeys, but we veer clear lest they hurl their hunting sticks at us. They eat our kind and steal our feathers. They are our enemies, as the cat-eagles are! If you have shared nest with our enemies, non-unicorn mare, then you, too, must be our enemy! Be off!”

The heron queen’s agitation grew even as she spoke. Her crest fa

“Peace, great queen of the windriders,” he soothed. “Ryhe

“Ah!” clucked Tlat, ruffling. “Ah! I see. My apologies, fiery colored mare. I spoke in haste. Prisoners! Yes. Did the two-foots steal your horn?”

Ryhe

“The two-foots’ captives grow no horns,” he began, but Tlat’s raucous cries interrupted him.

“No horns? How misfortunate—useless! Crippled. Like a broken wing! My commiserations, imperfect mare.”

The dark prince saw his companion’s face fall, her frame droop. She seemed utterly crushed at the heron queen’s screeches of sympathy. He drew breath.

“Indeed it is a great pity, but it ca

The heron queen bobbed, her gaze turning once more to Jan. “No word,” she cried. “Badly, we fear. Winter here was harsh. Too stormy to risk flying far from our cliffs. Many deaths. Our Mother-the-Sea did not yield much fish. Much courting this spring, though! Each hen has chosen her mates and begun to lay. Soon a great hatching will follow: a great squeaking and crying from the squabs just pipped from their shells. Then will the flock of the herons be renewed! Then will we forget the deaths and sorrows of this winter past.”

Her words sent a chill through Jan.

“But no word from the Vale?” he asked. “You do not know for certain how my own people fared?”

Tlat wagged her head, begi

Her words, shrieked and croaked in heron fashion, warmed Jan.

“I am grateful, great Tlat, for the ardor of your welcome. Truly the far-ranging herons are the invaluable allies of the unicorns. May your consorts be many and your nests bountiful. I would stay longer, enjoying your company, but I dare not. I must return to my people. Already I have been absent too long.”

Tlat started with a cry, flapping her wings. Ryhe

Now it was Jan’s turn to half shy in surprise. Captured a gryphon—one of the raiders that had harried him and his fellows upon the strand more than a half year gone? He marveled the gracile seaherons had managed to capture such a formidable enemy, much less hold it prisoner for over half a year. But before he could so much as draw breath to question Tlat, the heron queen had spread her wings to the stiff sea breeze and risen into the air. In another moment, she was out of earshot. Earthbound below, Jan and Ryhe