Digital ISBNs
EPUB 978-0-2286-0120-3
Kindle 978-0-2286-0119-7
Print ISBN 978-0-2286-0117-3
Amazon Print ISBN 978-0-2286-0118-0
Copyright 2018 by Suzanne de Montigny
Cover Art by Michelle Lee 2018
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
To everyone who was born a little different. It’s okay. I was too, yet I made it, and so will you.
To my writer’s group who picked apart my story, finding all those little mistakes like adverbs, double verbs, missing commas, etc. Kathleen Schmitt, Edye Hanen, Douglas Aitken, Rod Baker, and Ceil De Young. You guys are the best. And to my Beta readers whose sharp eyes caught what everyone else missed. Stuart West, Sandy Carlson, Madeleine McLaughlin, Sharon Willett, and as always, my sister Louise. And finally, to my editor, Catherine Brown. Thanks for helping me make the story the best it can be.
If they had only been kinder—even just a little.
The young unicorn clenched his teeth, the crease in his forehead deepening. A tear trickled down his cheek, burning like the sting of a bee. He shook it away.
No. Welcoming a colt born a little different was unthinkable to them. Impossible! And what's worse, when they discovered my gift, they hated me all the more. No compassion—none! And look what they did to Chrissandra. A lump in his throat threatened to escape, rolling into a hard sob at the name. He bit his lip and forced it back, glaring down below to where the herd of perfect, white unicorns grazed, manes and tales as pure as snow.
No. They chose their fate—every last one of them. It's their fault. They turned me into what I've become...and now they'll pay.
Damien remembered the day his world changed, the day he overheard his dam and sire exchanging heated words outside the cave by the bubbling creek that wandered through the meadow—the place they called home. They had been so happy there, Damien spending his days following his dam, Amarah, searching for tasty flowers and grazing on the lush grasses. Then, at night, listening with ears pricked forward while his father, Samuel, recounted the unicorn folklore about the great leaders, Azaria and Ulysees.
Damien had marvelled at the tales, his eyes wide at how courageous the stallions and mares of so long ago had been. That was until the day Father announced to Mother the time had come to join the herd.
“No, I won't have it!” Amarah cried. “Have you forgotten Isabelle?” Curious, Damien melted into his surroundings so as not to be seen.
“Isabelle. Who cares about her?” Samuel shook his mane. “She's got a tongue as sharp as a reed, that's all. Don't pay any attention to her.”
“Yes, but everyone listens to that sharp tongue,” Mother replied, resentment heavy in her voice. “Remember what happened to Lisa's foal? The mark?”
“Oh sure, she made a fuss,” said Samuel, “but eventually they accepted Chrissandra despite it.”
Amarah huffed. “That's what you think. She's always been an outcast. The other foals have never accepted her.”
Samuel sighed. “Now, Mother, you know that may have changed by now.”
“No. Not so long as Isabelle and Seamus are there. And Isaac, what kind of a Great Stallion is he? He's scared of Isabelle. He lets her push him around.” Amarah's voice quivered. “I tell you, there's no going back, not now, not ever.” She dissolved into tears.
Shock rippled through Damien at his mother's weeping. Who were these unicorns who threatened them? He hadn't even known there were others. He transformed back to his visible self and moved closer, using the silent steps he'd invented.
“Who's Isabelle?” he asked
His dam started when she saw him. She attempted to straighten her face. His sire stood, expressionless, a secret hidden in his eyes.
Samuel hesitated, then gave his throat a horsey rumble. “She's just a mare. Nothing to worry about.” He faked a smile. “She belongs to the herd.”
“What herd?” Damien asked.
Amarah cast Samuel a disheartened look. “We belong to a larger group of unicorns, Damien,” she said, her voice still shaky, “and your father wants to rejoin them.”
“Yes, you need to be with other foals your age,” Samuel said in earnest.
Damien's face lit up at the news there were other young unicorns like himself. “More foals? Then let's go!”
“It's not that easy, Damien,” said Mother, her helpless expression returning. “There's a mare named Isabelle...she's cruel, and I'm worried about...”
“About what?” asked Damien.
Silence met his question.
After a moment, Samuel spoke. “Isabelle's not the cheeriest person around, I agree, but it's high time you learned the three skills of Azaria and prepared for your initiation. After all, you're starting to get your horn.”
Amarah's voice fell to a whisper. “But the imperfection.”
“The imperfection?” Damien cocked his head to one side.
Father glared at Mother, his lips forming a silent ‘shhh.’ He pasted on a carefree smile. “Never mind, Damien. You don't need to worry about it.”
Two sunrises passed before Amarah and Samuel stopped arguing. When Damien awoke on the third morning, he found them grazing at the head of the trail. The sun had just begun its journey across the blue sky.
Samuel motioned him over with a tip of his head.
Damien reared. “Are we going?”
Amarah nodded, though her eyes remained sad.
“Woohoo!” The colt raced through the meadow, across the creek, and past their cave, then hesitated, his hooves dancing. “Good-bye cave. Good-bye, bubbling creek. See ya, meadow, purple flowers, pink flowers, oh, and the yellow ones too. And—”
“Come on.” Samuel laughed. “We haven't got all day.”
Damien galloped around the meadow one more time, then stepped in behind his parents on the trail.
It was a marvellous day for the colt, seeing new sites, new sounds, and exploring as they travelled. They discovered meadows they'd never laid eyes on, trees with broad canopies, and fields of the sweetest red flowers he'd ever tasted. They even encountered animals Damien had never met before. But when they viewed a small lake whose turquoise waters invited them in to swim, his dam gave a vigorous shake of her head.
“He mustn't know,” she whispered.
Know what? wondered Damien.
His sire nodded and made a wide arc around its waters so they could continue on their way.
The lake soon forgotten, Damien's mind returned to thoughts of the other foals. “Father, how many colts are in the herd?” he asked, his hooves skittering.
“Four,” replied Samuel, “...and four fillies. And there's a Great Stallion too. His name's Isaac.”
Damien let out a boisterous whinny as he imagined all the new unicorns he'd meet. “So is the Great Stallion mean or nice?” he babbled, remembering one of the stories his father had recounted of the cruel leader named Icarus.
Samuel let out a chuckle. “A little too nice sometimes.”
“But it's impossible to be too nice,” said Damien, “isn't it?” When his sire didn't respond, Damien cast a glance over his shoulder to Amarah, but she lagged several lengths behind them, her face drawn, and her hooves dragging.
The journey lasted all day. By the time they arrived at the top of the hill overlooking the valley, Damien's muscles trembled with fatigue, and his eyelids drooped.
“You two stay here,” said Samuel. “I'll go down tonight and prepare them. I don't want there to be any surprises.”
Amarah gave a weary nod, her brown eyes large and desolate.
Damien peered through heavy lids at the valley below. Small flecks of white dotted the green grasses. Unicorns! And so many. For a moment, his tail flicked with excitement. Then he surrendered to an exhausted slumber at his mother's hooves.
Corabelle slipped away, leaving the gate of the cottage unlatched to prevent it from thumping against the hard grain of the fence. Her heart pounded in her chest. It was her chance—the townsfolk were gone for the day.
She scanned the surrounding cottages of the village for signs of prying eyes, her bare feet making soft patting sounds on the dirt road. In the distance, she saw the townspeople bent over crops in the fields, the path that led there empty. Glancing up, she noted that the castle overlooking the village was quiet; no guards peered out over the ramparts.
Her wild, long blond hair blew in the wind as she ran. She pushed the loose strands off her face with her right hand, her left hand clutching a small sac.
When she arrived at the edge of the woods, she threw a last furtive glance over her shoulder, then dove into the cool, inviting forest. The dewy grass tickled her feet. Branches overhead whispered in the wind, and the sweet smell of pine tingled in her nose.
She breathed a sigh of relief, then continued on. After a time, she slowed her pace, following the narrow deer trail until she spotted the knoll ahead—her knoll. Tying the sac to her belt, she climbed the small hill, clutching dark roots as she went until she stood at the highest point, gazing down below to her secret spot. She smiled and grabbed hold of ferns and rocks, lowering herself down the other side until her feet rested in the green moss near the waterfall, its mist spraying her face.
Laying down the bag, she cupped her hands to her mouth and clicked her tongue, making a sound like the chattering of a squirrel. Then she reached into the sac and tossed scraps on the ground.
At first, there was a rustle, a peep, and then slowly the animals came, hesitating, shooting nervous glances into the surrounding forest, and flinching at the slightest sound.
Its whiskers trembling, a grey squirrel skittered down its tree to where the food lay. It stopped and nibbled, its eyes ever-watchful, then darted back into the branches. Other squirrels ventured forward too, heads flicking, snatching a morsel here and there. Eventually, they settled around the girl.
Corabelle bent down and stretched out her hand, petting tiny heads as they fed, running fingers down soft, warm backs, cooing encouraging words. When they'd done eating all she'd given them, and their eyes begged for more, she shook her head, then making slow and careful moves, rose and stepped over them. Slipping her hand into the bag, she scattered seeds onto the mossy earth, then whistled.
Tiny birds swooped down from the trees, plucking the ground with their small beaks, then fluttering back to their branches where they tilted their heads back to swallow.
“Come on. There's more.” She threw another handful of seeds.
A whiskey jack fluttered down and perched on Corabelle's wrist, its head scooping down to pick the seeds still stuck to her hand.
“Hello, Phineas.” She laughed. “I haven't seen you for a while. Where have you been? Have you found a new mate yet?”
The brown bird clicked its beak.
“Oh, you have? That's wonderful. And you have four eggs in the nest?”
Phineas tweeted and chirped in response.
“That’s good. I'm so happy for you.”
The whiskey jack downed more seed, then flapped his wings as though in distress, his tweeting and chirping frantic.
“What?” Corabelle's eyes widened.
Phineas hopped and flapped some more.
“Acorn's missing? But where's Autumn?” She swung around to where she knew the rabbit's burrow lay partially hidden in the tall grass.
A furry, brown rabbit emerged, followed by twelve babies. She gazed up at Corabelle, her big, brown eyes mournful, her whiskers twitching nervously.
“Autumn, is it true? Phineas says Acorn's been captured by one of the boys in the village.”
Autumn thumped her back paw, her nose wiggling.
“Who was it?” she asked.
An image flashed through Corabelle's mind of a towheaded boy whose dirty clothes hung on him, the one who always seemed to be in trouble in the village. “I know that boy. And you say he set a trap?”
Again, Autumn's nose twitched as she thumped her paw, agitated.
“I'll go tonight and see what I can do.”
Wiggling its whiskers, the rabbit looked into her eyes, seemingly consoled, then nibbled on the green lettuce Corabelle had laid down for her, her twelve babies surrounding her.
A loud, rustling noise on the knoll above Corabelle startled her. She froze, the hair on her arms rising. Had she been followed? Raising her head, she glanced upward, but the rays of sunlight filtering through the trees blinded her. She waited, her muscles tensed. But only the wind whistled through the leaves.
“It must have been a deer,” she said to herself.
She returned her attention to her menagerie of creatures, enjoying their squeaks and chatter, the sound of teeth nibbling, and scurrying feet mixed in with the gurgling of the waterfall. She loved being surrounded by the animals that pecked and tickled her as they chewed. She didn't have human friends—not really. Not since that day two years ago, when she was ten—the day she'd had her first spell.
She had been playing a game with the village children when a vision overcame her, and she slumped to the ground. The children had halted their game, horrified by the terror in her eyes.
“What's wrong?” her best friend Mia had cried out.
Corabelle stared into the distance as though paralyzed until her lips formed words—words that weren't her own. “The Brain Fever. It’s coming.” And then she rose, her hand covering her mouth as she pointed a finger at Mia. “Your papa, your papa…” she whispered.
Mia screamed and raced home, hysterical, angry at the cruelty of her friend. Her father forbade her to ever play with Corabelle again.
Two weeks later, the disease claimed him.
It didn't stop there, though. Twice more, Corabelle had spells. And twice more, she named victims. The villagers soon shunned her, whispering rumours—all except the parish priest, Father Patrick, and Mama.
“Mama!” Corabelle woke from her reveries and noted the length of the shadows. Time had slipped away. The villagers would soon be home. Gathering the empty cloth bag, she climbed back up over the knoll and dashed up the narrow deer trail. As she neared the cottage they called home, she saw Mama's silhouette in the window. But there was someone else there too. Her teeth clenched. It was Uncle Rupert!
The next morning, Damien's sire still hadn't returned.
“Where's Father?” he asked, snuggling closer to his mother as he awoke.
“I don't know,” she said, casting an anxious glance to the valley far below. “We’ll just have to wait for him.”
Damien followed her gaze to the herd of unicorns in the distance. They looked so tiny, like little white stones he'd seen along the creek bed back home, shimmering in the sunlight. He craned his neck, scanning the group, searching until he found a familiar shape standing tall and proud.
“Mother, I think I see him.” He sprang forward.
“Damien, no! You must wait,” she said. “It's not safe yet.”
The colt paid her no heed and leapt down the trail. “Father?” he shouted.
“No, Damien!” said Amarah.
He broke into a canter, picking up speed as he went, barreling down the steep terrain, faster and faster until a patch of slimy mud sent his spindly legs scrambling.
“Damien!” Amarah screamed.
The colt's hooves clambered as he fought for control, the ground as slick as ice. He thrashed about, then slid on his haunches off the trail, careening downward. His heart pumped wildly as he struggled to regain his footing. A large tree loomed in his pathway, its roots on either side like the tentacles of a monster. Rolling to his right, he aimed for one of the limbs and dug in a hoof, but his speed was too great, and he catapulted forward, tumbling down the slope, his mother's calls echoing far behind him. Over and over, he rolled through the wet leaves and muck until finally, he came to a stop in a field of long grass.
Dazed, the colt lay still. Then he shook his head and tested first one hoof, then another. When he regained his balance, he pulled himself up on all fours.
Amarah's hoof beats thundered from behind. “Damien!” she cried, her voice trembling.
“I'm all right, Mother,” he said, breaking into a half-pout, half-smile. “It was scary…but kind of fun too.”
Amarah let out a sigh of relief. “Damien, you should have listened.”
“But I wanted to find Father,” he said.
“But you could have been seriously injured.”
“Yeah, but…” Damien stopped. His ears pricked forward. Were those whinnies he heard? “They're over there!” he shouted, breaking into a canter.
“Damien, no.”
The colt ran to the band of unicorns. He danced around in an arc, prancing and paddling his hooves in the air, calling, “Hello, hello.” Kicking up his heels, he circled again, searching the faces of the others. “I'm Damien—Samuel and Amarah's colt.”
The unicorns stared, their eyes wide.
Seeing a colt, Damien dashed toward him, his tail wagging. “What's your name?”
But instead of joining Damien in a game, the colt ducked behind his dam.
Confused, Damien raced toward another. “Hello. Wanna play?”
But the second colt bolted back, his eyes round.
Damien cantered to a filly, circled her, and then stopped. “Let's race.”
The filly's face crumpled as she sidled up to her dam. “Mama, I'm scared,” she whimpered.
“Not to worry, Petra,” said the mare whose eyes were cruel. She let out a snort as she regarded Damien, then moved with arrogant steps until she stood face to face with Amarah, her tail swishing nonchalantly. “So I see you've come back. We all thought it odd how you slipped away into the night like that to have your foal.” Her voice was cool as she looked down her muzzle at the other mare. Her gaze fell on Damien. “Your new colt. He's very…interesting, isn't he?”
“He's just a little different...” said Amarah.
“Yes, I see that,” Isabelle answered, her sharp words cutting like jagged shale.
“You see when he was born...”
“Yes?” Isabelle stretched the word out, one brow raised in amusement.
“He…well…”
“Well, what?”
The sound of hooves interrupted her. It was Samuel, accompanied by a withered old stallion whose coat was dappled with grey.
“Ah, and here he is, Isaac. This is my son Damien,” Samuel announced to the older stallion, his voice jovial. “He's a bit small for his age, but he's brilliant.”
Isaac stared the colt up and down as though he were observing a rare specimen.
Damien, pleased to receive attention at last, leapt forward and touched the nose of the Great Stallion. Isaac staggered back, startled, as the other unicorns gasped. Confused, Damien turned and eyed Amarah, questioning.
“You mustn't ever touch noses with the Great Stallion,” she whispered.
Damien furrowed his brows. “Why not?”
“Because it's simply not done.”
Damien's face warmed. “Well, I didn't know.”
“Not a problem, little one,” said Samuel, letting out a chortle. “You'll learn quickly enough. Now come and meet the other youngsters.” He introduced him to each foal, naming them in turn. “This is Jeremy, Malcolm, Simon, and Yousef. And these lovely fillies are Yasmine, Gabrielle, Petra, and Chrissandra.”
Damien offered each one a friendly smile, but the foals only stared back at him, dumbfounded, then sidestepped away as he moved closer. Turning to his dam, he saw pain reflected in her eyes.
Isaac cleared his throat. “H-he seems normal enough, b-but the problem remains that he is different and we don't know why. His colour...he's red…like an apple.” The Great Stallion flashed an uneasy look at the herd and back, then shook his mane.
“Different, yes,” said Samuel. “And it's true, there has never been a red unicorn before, but we all know from our ancient tales that there's a purpose for everything.”
Isaac pressed his lips together, glancing back at the herd before answering. “Yes, but I'm worried it could mean the beginning of another change as in the time of Azaria or Ulysees. Already, another one of our own was born with a pink stain below her eye. What if this is the beginning of something much bigger? A sign.” Isaac's brows knitted together in worry.
“Or an evolution!” interrupted Samuel, his voice exuberant. “I've never seen a mind so inquisitive as this colt. Who knows who he will become in time.”
Isaac cocked his head and stared at Damien, assessing him. “All right, then.” He cast another wary glimpse toward the herd. “We'll give it a try. I've always respected you, Samuel. You've been a good influence on our youth, so I'll give your colt the same honour and education we give the others.”
Samuel broke into a smile. “Good. I promise you won't be disappointed.”
Damien's mouth hung in bewilderment. Isaac's words had stunned him. The colt wasn't blind. He had always known he was red, but he thought all unicorns were born red and that they turned white as they grew older. The truth crushed him.
“But…red's the prettiest colour of all,” Damien said, sidling up to Amarah. “It's the colour of apples and poppies. It's much prettier than white. What's wrong with being red?”
“Nothing,” Amarah muttered, her eyes filled with despair. “Nothing at all.”
The day seemed to last forever for Damien as the foals clung to their dams, stealing glances at him while the mares whispered amongst themselves.
Then he heard it—the rumour—as he moved away from his mother in search of purple flowers.
“I don't think he's really a unicorn,” Isabelle muttered to another mare, her voice low.
“Do you think so?” replied the mare, letting out a snicker.
“I bet Samuel's not even his real father. I think Amarah mated with a horse.” Isabelle grinned in a mean, sadistic way.
“A horse? Oh, my.” The mare moved away to spread the rumour. “Did you hear, Lilace?”
The gossip circulated quickly, and soon all the females buzzed about Damien and Amarah.
Damien wrinkled his brow at the words spoken just loud enough for him to hear. “Mother, they're saying bad things about us. Where's father?”
“He's off with Isaac,” said Amarah. “He'll be here soon.”
“I want him to make them stop saying those things,” said Damien. “He will, won't he?”
Amarah sighed. “Damien, that's why I didn't want to come. That's how they are. They did the same to Chrissandra—treating her like she was beneath them because of her pink birthmark.”
Damien tilted his head, his gaze moving to Chrissandra. “I don't mind her birthmark.”
“Neither do I,” said Amarah.
“It's like a little flower.”
But Samuel didn't return, and Damien, his eyes heavy, fell asleep, wishing they'd stayed in the meadow with the creek running through it.
Corabelle opened the door with the faintest of squeaks. Voices rumbled in the next room.
“You just can't accept the truth, can you?” growled Uncle Rupert.
“Accept the truth? How can I when what you're suggesting is utter nonsense!” Mama shot back.
“I know what I saw,” insisted Uncle Rupert, “and believe me, it was not normal.”
“So she likes to go into the forest to feed the animals. Is there a crime in that? She's always had a way with the creatures.”
“No, I tell you, Marion.” Uncle Rupert's voice rose. “There was something supernatural about it. She can talk to them…and they understand.”
“Rupert!” Corabelle heard Mama's fist hit the table. “Would you just stop it! Your imagination is running away as it always has.”
“No, it's true. Corabelle’s like Aunt Agatha; they even have the same eyes.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “And everyone knows Agatha's a witch.”
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. So they both have light, blue eyes,” Mama said, sarcasm running deep in her voice. “That makes her a witch? Besides, Father Patrick hasn't declared Agatha as such.”
Uncle Rupert grew more frantic. “That's because Father Patrick's a fool! An imbecile. Marion, I know those eyes. They see things no other human can. People with eyes like that are the spawn of the devil himself. Corabelle's not quite right. You know that. You saw how she predicted the Brain Fever, even naming its first victim.”
“Rupert. You’re trying my patience. Just stop it! It's possible to foresee the future without having made a pact with the devil.”
Uncle Rupert dropped his voice. “Marion, I tell you, no one will be safe until you accept the truth and do what needs to be done.”
Mama slammed the cupboard door. “Enough!” she shouted. “You're my only brother, and you tell me my daughter's a witch?”
“If the truth be told.”
“Then leave, and don’t ever set foot in this house again!” A dish sailed past Corabelle and smashed against the wall.
The girl shrunk into the shadows as Uncle Rupert fled. She remained hidden until she was sure he wouldn't return, then stepped into the candlelight.
Mama jumped when she saw Corabelle. “I see you're home.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“No doubt you heard that nonsense?”
Corabelle nodded.
“The very idea. As though befriending animals makes you a witch.” She grabbed a broom and swept up the pieces of the broken dish. “I swear that man goes beyond ridiculous.” She gathered up the bits of ceramic, put away the broom, then smiled. “How were the animals today?”
“Fine,” said Corabelle.
“Good.” Mama began preparing the evening meal, cutting strips of meat from the smoked pork leg that hung in the cellar and scrubbing the carrots she had picked from the garden. The aroma of fresh bread drifted from the oven.
“Who's Aunt Agatha?” Corabelle asked after her mother had removed the loaf, setting it on the cupboard to cool.
Mama wiped her hands and sighed. “She's your great-aunt. She lives on the edge of the forest in the cottage surrounded by wildflowers and tall firs.”
A vague memory tugged Corabelle—blue eyes, wrinkly blue eyes. And a kind smile.
“You mean that old lady we used to visit? The one with all the bottles?”
“The very one.”
Corabelle pondered a moment, then said, “So why doesn't Uncle Rupert like her?”
Mama snorted. “Probably because she can see right through him, and in Uncle Rupert's mind, I guess that makes her a witch. He’s scared of her.”
Corabelle's heart thumped hard in her chest at the word witch. Gathering her courage, she asked, “Are you sure I’m not a witch, Mama?”
“No, my sweet. What you have is a gift…like your drawings.”
Mama filled the plates and laid them on the table. Corabelle sat down, glancing at the third chair that stood empty. How she missed her Papa since he’d disappeared several months ago, leaving early in the morning when the birds had begun to chirp. They expected him within a day or two dragging the carcass of a buck, but when a week had passed, and he hadn't come back, a posse of men from the village went in search of him. When they returned, they shook their heads, claiming his tracks had vanished. How does someone just disappear? For months, Corabelle had grieved, finally resigning herself to life with only one parent. It wasn't so bad, just her and Mama. But if Papa were here, he'd surely put Uncle Rupert in his place.
“Why don't you paint tonight?” her mother asked before taking a bite of the fresh bread. “That'll get your mind off of Uncle Rupert. The birds you drew last time were so beautiful, and there's plenty more space on the wall.”
Corabelle pondered how Papa would be so pleased to see the main wall of the cottage filled with her bright paintings…if he ever returned.
“All right,” she said.
After finishing the meagre meal, Mama cleared away the dishes while Corabelle carried the mortar to the garden where she picked berries and dandelions. Her bowl filled, she began crushing them, adding first the blueberries and dandelions to make green, then just the right amount of red fruit, mashing the mixture with the pestle until it changed to the warm brown of the rabbit's fur.
She chose a spot in the corner of the wall, filling in the edges first. Slowly, a rabbit took shape.
“That’s good,” Mama said.
“Her name's Autumn,” said Corabelle. “And her mate was…” She stopped herself in time, remembering to guard the secret of the rabbit's plight.
“Her mate was what?” asked Mama.
“Ah…her mate's name is Acorn. And they have a lot of babies.”
“Sounds like a rabbit.” Mama let out a laugh.
Corabelle drew the kittens with care, each with its own character. The one near Autumn’s left foot appeared fat and lazy, the one close to her tail, excited. Another seemed impatient, and another very girlish. When she finished, she dabbed at the painting with a cloth until she was sure the colours wouldn't run.
Mother and daughter stood back admiring the work.
“You're getting better and better at this,” Mama said.
“Really?”
“Yes. I'm proud of you. Now let's get ready for bed.”
Corabelle changed her clothing, then walked to the corner of the room. “Mama?” she said as she climbed in beside her on the straw mattress.
“Yes?”
“Why do we never visit Aunt Agatha?” she asked.
Mama's voice hesitated before answering. “Because the village has decided to shun her.”
“Shun? What does that mean?”
“It means no one's allowed to talk to her. They avoid her.”
“But that's not fair if all she has is a gift.”
“I know, but we need to avoid trouble as best we can, right? Sometimes it's best to lie low.”
Corabelle lay quiet for a while after hearing Mama's words, then rolled over. Was Aunt Agatha really as bad as Uncle Rupert said? Her curiosity piqued, Corabelle hatched a plan.
Maybe the villagers are shunning Aunt Agatha, but I won’t.
When Damien awoke, cool, morning mist surrounded him. He blinked at the hazy image of the sun that had just risen above the horizon, beginning its journey across the sky.
“Rise and shine.” He heard Samuel call, his voice a little too enthusiastic.
Damien's eyes combed the mist for his sire. His dim shape emerged from the fog.
“Today, you start your training.” Samuel smiled.
“What do you mean?” asked Damien, scrambling up on his hooves.
“You're going to join the other foals to learn what they've been practicing.”
Damien's heart leapt. Perhaps this would be his chance to make friends at last. Surely, they'd be used to the fact that he was red by now. He scampered forward, eager to follow, confident all would go well.
Samuel led the way up the trail. The scent of fresh pine needles and wet earth filled Damien's nostrils as they walked. Dew moistened his hair, and small beads of water formed on his eyelashes. He paused to shake them off, drops flying everywhere.
When they arrived at the meadow, Damien could barely make out the dim line of foals in the mist.
Samuel lowered his head to Damien's level. “Your teacher will be here soon. Go join the others, and I'll be back to get you later.”
Damien's muscles tensed at the thought of being left alone until he noticed Chrissandra standing slightly away from the group, her pink birthmark like a small jewel on her perfect white face. Was that warmth in her eyes?
Damien gathered up his courage.
“Good-bye, Father.” He watched his sire's shape diminish as the stallion drifted down the trail, disappearing into the mist. When he lost sight of him, Damien turned back to the group only to find himself face to face with the largest of all the colts—Malcolm.
“Hey, horse-boy,” Malcolm taunted, the corner of his mouth twisted up into a smirk.
The other foals chuckled.
Malcolm threw them an amused glance. “So, horse-boy, do you even know how to run yet?”
The foals laughed again, all except Chrissandra whose desperate eyes searched the trail.
“Or are you gonna take another mud bath like the one you had yesterday when you slid down the mountain?” Malcolm sneered.
“