Lord of the Twilight.
by Lyonesse

It was twilight.    The silvery light of the waxing moon spilled over treetops clothed in early autumn’s green and gold finery.    The moonlight touched a few of the fallen leaves, highlighting a leaf here, a twig there, and throwing a mysterious aura around the trees.    The road was a ribbon of silver woven through fields of crumpled black velvet.    A faint mist drifted, blanketing the lands in a smoky silver veil.    The stark grey of a dead tree at the front of the nearby woodland stood out, pale and ghostly against the dark mass of trees.    It was nearly dark, and the sky was the deep purple of night, shot through with tiny points of light that glittered and sparkled crazily in the late evening.    A cool wind drifted idly amongst the leaves, waking the soft hiss of rain from the trees and rustling in the dry grasses.    

   It was the sort of mysterious night where things happen, magical things, wondrous things, a night where secrets emerge from their dark, well-hidden corners and dance in the silver moonlight.    And on this particular night, the magic that crept forth was in the shape of a beautiful creature the world had not seen for oh, so long.    A shape drifted out of the swirling mist, a creature so beautiful, so graceful, that it seemed that the night itself paused at the timeless elegance of its form.    

   The wind whirled again, dancing in and out of a long, blue-silver mane and tail, tossing the glowing, rippling waves of fine hair out around the unicorn.    For unicorn he was.    His huge, white form stood on slender, delicate legs of alabaster, tinged with twilight’s blue, and small drifts of the same stuff of his mane and tail floated around each cloven silver and crystal hoof.    His neck arched gracefully, with an elegant curve as it blended into a delicate head of blue and pearl.    His huge black sapphire eyes were edged with silvery lashes and set far apart, round as gems and glowing with magic and a deep, fey wisdom.    The chiseled lines of his face were dished and tapered to a small, dark skinned muzzle, set with huge, expressive nostrils that were flared as he inhaled the crisp night air.    His forelock wisped around a long, whorled horn that seemed to catch the moonlight and spin it forth brighter than before, so that it glowed eerily, translucent in its own light, silver – blue against the night sky.    He snorted and shifted restlessly, sending his silver beard swirling, then he reared, bounced a few times on steel muscled hind legs before taking off in a slow, graceful canter, neck proudly arched as he danced over the land that humans tended.    This place would flourish as never before.    

   He was free!    Elation coursed through his veins.    Freedom was in the cool night air, in the wind pushing the silk of his mane and tail into hills and plains and smoothing the satin of his sides.    It was the moonlight and the hard road under his silver feet, the ghostly whisper of the trees, and the fallen leaves underfoot.    He reared and plunged, singing his delight at freedom from his dark prison to the uncaring moon far above.    He trotted up the silver streak of road, cloven feet sounding like windchimes as they struck sparks off the hard surface.    Nearby, humans in their small, confining houses stopped talking and took a breath of the night air, and his presence, unsought, smoothed lines of care from tired faces.    The unicorn was joy incarnate.    

   The mist rose still higher, gathered around his silver form as he seemed to unravel, then only a cloud of silvery mist remained, and even that slowly dissipated on the twilight wind.    

(C) Lyonesse, 2000, 2001, 2002