Tek whooped, half shying as Sa reached playfully to nip her neck. The grey mare frisked like a filly, and the healer’s daughter whickered, amazed how suddenly her mood lifted at the prospect of a full belly of sweet, greenish tuckfruit. Come the morrow, they would feast for the first time in days! She ramped, scarcely able to restrain her exuberance. Dagg chafed and chivvied her, laughing himself now. With the certainty of at least a day’s ample forage ahead, all thought of both the herd’s troubles and her own slipped unmissed from her thoughts.

The firekeepers’ settlement sprawled along one bend of a broad, cliffed bay, rank upon rank of their timber dwellings crowding the slopes above. Tai-shan stood gazing in astonishment as the caveshell angled toward land. A crisp, clean breeze slapped at the billowing windwing. Other caveshells glided by, their own windwings whitely belled.

The daïcha stood alongside him, her green falseskins fluttering, the silvery crescent upon her breast flashing in the late afternoon sun. A throng of two-foots milled upon the nearing beachhead. As the caveshell ground ashore, they surged and shouted. Laughing, the daïcha lifted one graceful, hairless forelimb and gestured in greeting.

Tai-shan heard gasps, cries of wonder and alarm as he leapt to join the daïcha on the strand. Half the spectators seemed ready to flee at the sight of him—the rest shouldering forward for a better view. A company of two-foots pressed back the jostling crowd, using long, straight staves tipped with glinting skystuff. Each such male wore a burnished head-covering, also of skystuff, topped with a purple plume. Beyond them, the throng waved and cheered.

“Greetings!” the dark unicorn called to them in his own tongue. “Greetings to you, noble two-foots!”

The daïcha cried out a long phrase ending in “Tai-shan.” The crowd took up the word, chanting his name as the daïcha led him up a stony path between the tall wooden dwellings. Green-plumed two-foots armed with skewers, not staves, escorted their green-clad leader and her companions along the rising path. The dark unicorn walked alongside. Solid ground felt strange beneath his hooves after so many days at sea. More two-foots—held back by the purple-plumes—crowded the narrow way.

“Tai-shan! Tai-shan!” roared the crowd.

The tumult grew deafening. Two-foots leaning from openings high in their timber dwellings’ walls flung brilliant seedpods, withered flowers, and shavings of aromatic spicewood onto hard, flat cobbles of the path. Through the shower of offerings, the dark unicorn gazed in amazement at the vast settlement. Fire burned everywhere, glowing in blackened hollows of skystuff, crackling upon treelimbs set in niches, and dancing in hanging boxes of semitransparent shell.

The sun sank lower, edging toward dusk. The petal-strewn path, he saw, climbed toward a magnificent dwelling that crested the slope. A barrier of timber surrounded the place. As they neared, green-plumes rushed forward to shove at a pair of heavy wooden panels mounted in the timber wall. These pivoted inward, creating an entryway. Sun slipped below horizon’s edge. The air grew dark and chill. As the daïcha led him through the entryway, the dark unicorn glanced back at her people’s immense settlement spilling the shadowed hillside below, the whole slope ablaze with little flickers of captured fire.

The commotion of the crowd abruptly muted as the huge wooden panels boomed shut. Tai-shan found himself in an open, cobbled space lit by burning brands. Around him, the daïcha’s train milled expectantly until an ornate panel in the nearest dwelling swung open and a male two-foot strode out, accompanied by more of the purple-plumes. He appeared young and vigorous, darkly bearded and attired in falseskins of deep violet and gold. A circlet of skystuff gleamed among the black curls crowning his head.

“Emwe! Emwe, im chon,” the daïcha cried gladly.

She and her fellows dropped to the ground. Startled, the dark unicorn cavaled—then stilled his hooves as he remembered that the two-foots used this crumpled posture to show homage. This purple-clad male—the chon–must be the settlement’s ruler, he concluded in surprise. Who, then, must the daïcha be—his sister? His mate? Facing the two-foot ruler, Tai-shan dipped his long neck in a bow.

The chon clapped the undersides of his forepaws together, and the crouching two-foots raised their heads. Baring his teeth, he beckoned to the daïcha, who hurried to him. He enfolded her in his forelimbs for along moment. When he released her, she turned, talking to him excitedly and gesturing toward Tai-shan. The others eyes widened as he took note of the dark unicorn for the first time. Tai-shan tossed the forelock out of his eyes, and the other exclaimed in astonishment at the sight of his moon-marked brow.

“Dai’chon!” he whispered.

Gently, the daïcha corrected him: “Tai-shan.”

The chon called out a sharp command. Purple-plumes hurried to snatch firebrands from wall niches and hold them near. Tai-shan stood in a ring of fire. The chon strode forward and circled the dark unicorn, peering at him in obvious fascination. He exchanged animated comments with the daïcha, who stood back, watching anxiously. Disconcerted, Tai-shan pivoted to remain facing his host.

Emwe. Emwe, im chon. He struggled to repeat the daïcha’s greeting, but as before, the unpronounceable words came out whistIed, garbled: “Am-wa. Umuwa m’shan….”

The two-foot ignored his words, staring pointedly at the dark unicorn’s cloven hooves. Tai-shan cavaled uneasily. Without warning, the chon stepped forward to lay one forepaw against his chest. The other he ran swiftly along the dark unicorn’s back to the croup. Tai-shan jerked away with a startled snort. The other’s peremptory manner astonished him. Only the daïcha had dared to touch him before—and he realized now it was her touch alone that he welcomed. His skin twitched.

Clucking, the other made to approach him again, but the dark unicorn dodged, shaking his head vigorously. The chon halted, eyes keenly narrowed suddenly, lips pressed tight. Then with a barking sound that might have been laughter, he stepped back from the ring of fire to rejoin the daïcha. She seemed relieved. Once again, he embraced her, speaking warmly to her. She smiled and nodded. Abruptly, he turned to quit the yard, and his purple-plumes, still bearing their torches, accompanied him through the great shelter’s paneled entryway.

The daïcha beckoned her female companions and her green-plumes to her as she led Tai-shan across the darkened yard to another, smaller building. The lighted interior felt luxuriously warm, the tang of fire pervading the air, and the musty, sweetish scent of vast quantities of dried forage. The young stallion sneezed, unused to such a savor of abundance so late in the season. His nostrils flared suddenly. He halted dead.

“Unicorns!” he exclaimed. The musk, spicy scent of his own kind hung all around. “Unicorns!”

Only silence answered. Not so much as a slap of mane or a stamp replied. Nevertheless, a rush of euphoria filled the young stallion’s breast. Surely these must be the lost companions he had sought so long.

“Where are you? Show yourselves!”

Once again, only silence. The daïcha was urging him onward. Eagerly, he followed, hoping she might lead him to his fellows, though his memory of them and of his former life remained dim. They proceeded down an aisle between two rows of wooden compartments—all empty, though the scent of unicorns remained strong. Oddly, he scented mostly mares—here and there, a whiff of filly or foal—but no mature males, none even old enough to be called half-grown.