I must tell my story quickly, if it is to be told at all, for I do not know how long I will stay lucid this time round.
My thoughts here ramble and are often mixed up. The sequence doesn’t always fit together seamlessly and in order. Bear with me as I try to gather my thoughts.
I am trapped. We are trapped. I’ve fought the longest, the hardest.
But still, I have fallen.
I must think, breathe, rest. Then, fight again.
I know my kind, the Unicorn, is special.
We don’t fly as much as we move to and move through another place when we think of it. That is the way of our people.
We are magical in a sense, but not in the way of the Elves. Their crafting magic, binding spells and ability to cloak and transform appearance far surpass ours. But we have powers of our own, or at least I think we did. It’s so hard to tell what I remember, and what has been forced into my mind these days.
For our kind, time and place are merely suggestions, items of thought and memories rather than objects with which to interact. When we are not chained or fettered (as we are now) we can go through time and place as easily as humankind move through ideas.
Our abilities to move are what attracted Him to us. What power He must have had to originally freeze us in our tracks as we tried to run!
I was last of all. Even in my fury, I could not move carefully enough to escape.
Amongst my kind, I am unique. All but I have our power glowing brightly in a dazzling white blaze, hovering centimetres from our foreheads. With me, my power is naturally a dullish red.
However when I am angered, my power flares brightly, warning all around of my fury. Those with experience give wide berth, as they know the outcome will be painful.
I am often alone because of my temper. Alone, save for the glow of my angry power… pulsing red as brightly as pain when my memories collide.
We have struggled to be free, my eight comrades and I. It has been what seems aeons since the scent of our homeland, and more sweetly, the scent of freedom, passed through our lungs. How long has it been, exactly?
The largest of us, Donna, cried, once. I could hear her quietly sobbing in the cold, icy dark pen in which we were kept.
Kept like animals.
“Oh dear,” she cried softly, “I just remembered humans. The loved us so.”
“I know.” I responded gently, stroking her ever so softly, “They surely still remember us.”
She was quiet for a moment, then turned away.
“I’m not so sure.” The dark look in her eyes flared, and her power blinded me for a moment. “I’d forgotten them.”
We spent the rest of the night in silence.
The occasional snort and snore of our companions stirred our thoughts every so often, but otherwise all was still.
The Elven folk were our captors.
Their binding spells hurt, dizzyingly so. And they could make things.
Not just the normal making of things where we put items together using bits of metal and string. No, the making of the elven folk stunk of arcane knowledge and the speed of their accomplishments was as terrifying as it was beautiful.
Their aged, timeless hands appeared to simply hover over their handiwork as the items seemed to assemble themselves.
What power did He have over these creatures, our tormentors, our captors?
More importantly, how can we hope to overcome this place? Overturn our prison?
Unlike my companion Donna, I have always remembered the humans. They were never quite quick enough to catch us unawares, although their yearning to see us was in itself mesmerising.
I could lose myself for what seemed like hours in any given human‘s eyes. They are truly the windows to their souls, those eyes.
We – the human folk and ourselves – never learned each other’s languages. No need really, as our shared desires bridged the gaps between us.
They could never see us for what we truly are. I don’t know why.
Perhaps it is because we are cosmically different, the humans and us, the unicorn folk.
I can see reflections of ourselves in their hearts and endless eyes, and I see not ourselves – but a different type of beauty. This never ceased to astound and humble me whenever I looked there.
We will be with the humans again I pray. We must keep the memories alive. Hence this missive – this is for me in the future, when I am stronger and more able to take action.
Find the humans, And convince them to help us.
This place is so cold.
But it is not the physical temperature that I feel. I am aware of that, in the steaminess of our breaths, in the crisp but muffled echoes of our cries as we once called out for assistance.
What is cold is the energy in the air, in the ground, surrounding us all.
I feel its magnetism all around. I can see it in the skies at night.
Why chose this place to live?
Is this the source of His power? Or is it, rather, a side effect of that power? I fear the answer is the latter.
It is almost time again. I can feel the increased urgency in the Elven moves, in the electricity in the air, in the restlessness of my companions’ milling about.
We will again be called upon to move the sum of countless items across time and distances none save ourselves could do. Even then, it will be a strain.
I don’t know how the others managed this before my capture and addition to the effort.
Blix is angry.
His sister, Donna, tries to console him. But to no avail.
When they talk, the skies sound and light up like thunder and lightning.
I can’t make out their thoughts. I am lost in mine own.
We move now.
It is a glorious feeling, moving like we do. Even with the elven bind-spells crafted upon our sides, we can feel the power of our kind and our ancestors moving through us, around us, parting time and space.
He shouts at us, calling us by name, goading us on to reach His goals.
I lead the way, angry as always, my power alternating between fiery gleaming and insane lava-heat.
It is an odd and twisting journey we take, as we have done for so long from time to time. Because of our ability to move as we do, we make the trip – as humans measure it – instantly, but there are so many stops that it is dizzying. Time has no meaning on this night, especially for we who move through it as if it didn’t exist.
During these stops we sometimes see humans, and they rarely but occasionally see us.
However when I dive into their hearts and eyes I don’t see the same reflection I’ve seen before. The Elven transformation magic hides our true selves.
For the humans, the glimpse of us is still magical, but it is a false magic.
I cry for them.
Our strength falters but only on the stretch back to the cold place. Our task is done for the moment, and we must rest up for another set of deliveries the next time we are called into service.
At least that is what we want Him to think.
Dash has been speaking to some of the older Elves.
We may have allies.
