It was a good, warm evening, with only a hint of a warm breeze to keep the air moving. Thorne picked her way daintily through the woods, her cloven hooves providing surer footing than the solid mass of a horse's clodhoppers. Her companions were far ahead of her, and the distance was growing; she could still hear the murmur of their voices as they lost themselves in talk. She doubted they would notice that she was gone until it was too late to come back for her. That was as it should be, their quest was finished, they had accomplished their goal, and now it was time for them to return home, satisfied that they had done their duty. Thorne would return to her forest and idle away the days until someone else came along, in need of her help.

Thorne flicked her ears as the faded voices of her former companions were drowned out by the equally faint voices of strangers. Unlike the voices she wanted to keep listening to, these were many, they were loud, and they were growing closer. She almost turned and walked away, but something tingled under her flesh, and she shivered her skin; ah, that prickle, it was familiar! She edged closer, and the sense grew stronger. She knew what this was, and she found herself unable to walk away. She followed the voices, and the tingle, to a tiny village on the edge of no where.

The ritual was not the same in every country, or even every town or village. Many places had dissolved such things completely, calling them outdated and womanizing. Thorne didn't understand those words. All she knew was that this was a ritual she was fascinated by; her kind did not mate, so she liked to see the courting habits of all creatures, it was all so alien. So she stood in the trees at the edge of the village, hidden away, though she doubted any of inhabitants would have noticed her; all eyes were on the dancing girl and the roaring bonfire in front of her. With firelight dancing in her brilliant old eyes, Thorne watched the girl dance, felt the music down in her bones, and heard the primal howling of the boys.

Seconds felt like minutes, and Thorne picked up on the girl's displeasure; unicorns were sensitive to the emotions of others. She never meant to interrupt, but she found herself trotting closer, eeling her way between the townsfolk, skipping over a boy who had bent to the ground, and prancing over to the dancing girl. She pulled herself to a stop at her side, tail flagging, head high, eyes glittering with amusement. She fixed the girl with a fond look and shook her thick, tangled mane.

"Child, what are you doing?"

Thorne sighed softly as the music died away, she so loved music. One by one the crowd of people became mute, and only the dancing girl remained oblivious to her presence, until she foolishly spoke and the girl looked around. She fell to her knees and Thorne sighed again, her serpentine tail swishing, the silvery hair kissing the fire and coming back uncharred. This happened so terribly often, and in her youth she had revelled in it, allowing the near-worship the fey and humanity held for her to inflate her ego until she could hardly carry it. But she was old now, and she had seen too much to desire such power over another. She looked around herself to see the rest of them kneeling, heads bowed, just like the dancing girl. She shook her head in a mixture of disappointment and amusement.

The dancing girl finally found her voice, and Thorne turned back to look at her as she spoke in a voice broken by exertion. What she said had Thorne tossing her head back and laughing as she had in her early days. She laughed heartily, high and shrill, and she shook her head, letting firelight flash across her horn.

"Child," she said, "I am as pure as pissed-on snow, and too old to lie about it." Her eyes danced with joy and she tapped the girl lightly on the shoulder with her long horn. "Come now," she said in her soft, worn voice, "Look at me. Surely I am better looking than the dirt. Or perhaps not?" She chortled. She looked about at the surrounding townsfolk, and sauntered toward the gaggle of young men standing by themselves; the girl's choices, she presumed. She strolled around, examining them, nuzzling them, blowing into their faces for a reaction. After a few minutes, she stepped back up to the dancing girl, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Well, my child, they all seem like superb choices to me, but I am just a unicorn, I cannot begin to fathom what an elf would desire in her mate. If it were up to me, though, I would choose the one to the far left; he's smaller than the rest, and in my experience, the smallest men are often the pluckiest."

Thorne stepped back, startled by the elf's sudden rage; she laid her ears back to mute the shrill notes of her screaming. She didn't interrupt, just stood, watching with mild shock and growing guilt as the girl vented her emotions, and the onlookers began making noises of displeasure and surprise. The unicorn glanced around, bewildered by what was happening; she didn't understand mating, it was simply one of many things that even age couldn't truly teach her about. Unicorns didn't fall in love.

She waited patiently as the girl raged, moving away from the subject of mating and onto magic, a topic that Thorne thankfully did know something about. She felt less like she was falling, now that she could follow the tangent of the elf's emotions. She flinched when an angry voice silenced the girl, and watched with pity as she wilted, her response to her mother lacking all the fire of before. The silence stretched for many seconds, before Thorne shook herself and stamped her feet. She took a few steps back toward the elven girl, and bowed her head.

"I must beg your forgiveness, Child. I am old, and nosy, and I don't understand the nature of courting. Unicorns are born from the Earth, we have no need for love or mating." Not many were aware of this fact, unless they had a great deal of knowledge about unicorn lore, but she didn't think it was supposed to be a secret. So she didn't mind telling people. "I meant no harm. I recently parted with friends, and I do not make a habit of revisiting friends after we have parted ways. So your music and your fire entertained me, and I couldn't help but be my meddlesome self."

She edged closer, and blew gently in the girl's face. Everything was still silent, and she wondered idly what would happen to the girl because of her intervention. What a terrible thing it would be for her to be punished over this; could one be punished for refusing a union? As she pondered this, her old mind fixed on something the girl had said that at the time, Thorne had thought nothing of.

"You know, I am from out of this village, and I have seen things and been places," she stated matter-of-factly.

ooc; sorry guys, I had it all written out last night and then it deleted itself. I was so annoyed I couldn't bring myself to rewrite it until now.

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Thorne felt a mixture of amusement and pride as the girl made her announcement, and flicked her ears happily. Elves were such charming little creatures, almost as eccentric as humans, and the old unicorn never tired of their odd little quirks. But her pleasant mood was quickly destroyed as rage and betrayal flooded into her, creeping into her bones. She sagged and gasped, startled by the onslaught, as the elf girl's mother began snarling like a hungry puma. Thorne laid her ears so flat against her skull they were hardly visible, and she stamped her hoof as the pain crawled into her skull and started her head throbbing.

The elf mare's anger was quickly met by her mate's calm, crushing disappointment, and Thorne stared miserably at the two, irritated by their inability to keep their feelings contained. But the girl's anguish was worst, and Thorne grunted as it hit her; she barely heard the child excuse herself, and after she'd fled, the unicorn stood for a moment, trying to gather her wits. A unicorn could block empathic projections, yes, but not easily if she wasn't expecting them, and certainly not when they just kept coming. So she took this quiet moment to take a breathe, wash away the remnants of that unpleasant experience, and centre herself. Only then did she dart past the crowd and disappear into the forest.

She followed the elf at a distance, to give her time to herself, to process what had happened. She trudged through the trees, feeling tired, and fighting not to show it. She could hear the girl ahead of her, but she herself was silent, having had over a thousand years to perfect the art of making no sound. When the moon came out, Thorne raised her head and greeted it, and as she did, she again sensed the magic she had noticed back by the bonfire. They were moving toward it's source, and it had grown stronger when the moon came out. Hmm. She broke into a trot, her curiosity piqued.

It didn't take long for Thorne to catch up to her elven girl, crouched behind a bush, spying on someone. Thorne came up quietly and brushed her nose across the girl's shoulder to announce her presence, before leaning out to look at the stranger. She snorted in surprise, and danced out into the open, leonine tail twirling. She approached the second elf girl, admiring the silvery hair and distinct features of the moon elf.

"Goodness me," she laughed, "Oh, it's been a while since I've seen one of you around."