#baronyofthesilverwolf

"That's a motherfurkin' unicorn."

"Yes, it's amazing!"

With a final snort and a lunge, the fellsteed unicorn slashes at the Kelpie with flaming horn, and it sinks below the water, a dark shadow that vanishes downstream.

Turning, eyes the burn like banked coals look back at the two on the shore.

Arty GAPES.

"H-hi. Thank you?"

"Gosh... I bet the Baron would give his right arm to have THIS guy in his stables..." Art whispers...

The eyes of the fell unicorn FLARE.

"You can't cage a unicorn!"

"It's... ya CAN'T."

"No, no, of course not!" Art is reckless, but not stupid, and quickly sits up, and bows his head low. "Thank you for saving us, Valiant One." Remembering his manners finally.

Thistle reaches out a hand towards the majestic beast.

The stallion steps slowly towards them, up the bank from the stream, and considers the two. His head lowers, horn pointing towards them, as he moves in at a slow pace, pointed towards Art.

Art inches backwards nervously, holding his arm, which is, he now notices, bleeding from the bite and tug-of-war. As the Unicorn points his horn, his heart races...

But Thistle notices that the horse is moving slowly, but not in a... predatory way? It's horn seems to be aimed for Art's injured arm, and not to try to skewer him.

"Art, stay still."

"Don't let it eat me..." Art whispers!

"It's... in the stories, unicorns can heal. You're hurt."

A SNORT of contempt, and the unicorn lowers his horn... there is a sizzling sound, and a pained YELP from Art! But when the stallion's head is raised, the wound is closing, seared painfully shut, and then vanishes.

The unicorn turns to Thistle, and steps forward towards her.

Thistle STARES.

The Unicorn flares his nostrils, sniffing at her, and... oh... oh dear, is one of the little sillies... playing in it's MANE? He shakes his head a bit and sends the Never flying, but gently, and then is nuzzling Thistle's hand with breath that is nearly as hot as the flames licking from Willy's forge.

Art STARES. "It... HE - he likes you."

"Wow..."

"Thank you, Unicorn. For saving Art."

A few grimaces at the heat, but she gives scritches!

He blinks, and then speaks. "The Veil is thin, and the fell run wild. If you remember anything, tell the child of the dark star to HEED his warnings."

A hunting horn sounds, off in the distance, and the unicorn looks up. "The Wyld Hunt begins, and I must attend. Go." Is he one of the hunters, or the hunted? Does it matter? He doesn't seem concerned.

The horn is lowered once more, but this time to touch the wings on Thistle's back - crushed and dangling after the tussle and fall. With a flare of light, they are whole once more - and now chased with a pattern that looks like flames licking the very feathers, Icarus too close to the sun!

Nod-nod-nod!

"Arty... I think.. I think you DO see stuff." She whispers to him, as she watches the Unicorn go.

The stallion canters off, leaving sizzling hoofprints in his wake.

Art blinks a few more times. "You saved me. You... I think magical creatures LIKE you."

"Green-glimmer got him..."

"And greenie follows YOU." He gets to his feet, and offers Thistle a hand up, chivalrously.

She takes the hand.

"I think they think I'm a very big Never."

He pulls her to her feet, and... keeps hold of her hand. "I won't forget this." He promises, giving her hand a squeeze. "C'mon, let's get to the party, before Gwen thinks we ditched her."

"Right! Show up everyone by looking awesome." A grin.

And so they head to the party! Which, after their early experience, is less exciting than it might have been, but still a good time, and a good story to tell Gwen!

Alas, Samhain works it's magic, and Art DOES forget, as does Thistle, and Gwen... the next morning, Art left with only a bruise that stings like sunburn, and Thistle's flame-kissed wings to wonder at... though Gwen also has a hickey that she might need to cover up, or face Marigold's knowing looks!

(FIN)

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Some time after Samhain, the fire-gilded wings now hold a place of honor in the little workshop.

A row of fired pots are set up along the table, in various states of being painted with glaze.

The current one appears to be in dull colors - but then, it will take fire to bring out their true hue.

One Never of blue white, almost ice colors, even before winter, waches curiously

Thistle is working carefully on the "best" pot.

Ooo... best pot. Perhaps a never can fit in it? like a cat

"How about we try one of the ones not being painted, huh?"

"They'll have brighter colors after the glaze fire. You'll like'm."

A nod nod, jingling a bit

"...but you wanna stay in THIS pot."

"Of course."

BIGGGER nod

Sigh.

"There's five other pots."

Frosty nose, or whatever you want to call the never, moves to the other pot.

Then, wings fluterr, and zip to another other pot