A Unicorn's Decision

Lawrence the unicorn was exhausted. He’d been traveling the continent searching for more of his kind. Finding even just one other of his kind would satisfy this great and heavy need. 

He had roamed all the way down through Alaska to King Cove, then all the way north to Utqiagvik. He had made his weary way across the Northwest Territories to Nunavut, then down through every Canadian Province to the tip of Newfoundland, to a little town called Blanc Sablon. His coat grew as shaggy as the wild mountain horses of the vast white tundra of the horseshoe, not quite polar bearish but thick and warm. 

Outside the town of Porte La Prairie just past Winnipeg he met a herd of wild horses whose leader was chestnut stallion so huge his shoulders were a foot higher than Lawrence’s. His name was Kubrik and he seemed a bit mad. He was brave and smart but not entirely fearless. For in the horse world, fearless meant stupid. He introduced the unicorn to his herd, and he shared his grassy knoll. It was spring and the females were randy. 

After eating his fill, Lawrence tentitavely approached Sabre, a young mare with a pearly white coat like his. She consented. She was feisty and nipped at him as he mounted her, arousing him more.

           They lay in the tall, soft grass, steam lazily wafting from their damp muscular bodies.

The lovely mare asked, “Must you leave?”

           Lawrence answered, “Yes my love. I can not rest until I either find another of my kind or die trying. Besides, the stallions in your herd don’t like me.”

           “Why do you say that?” Sabra asked, then added, “Kubrik likes you.”

           “I hear them whispering about my horn, they think I’m a freak. And Kubrik eats toadstools and sees little green men swinging from dogwood branches.”

           “Hahaha, that he does. But the rest of the stallions are just jealous!””

           “But they are right, I am a freak! There is no other horse with a horn on their forehead!” Lawrence the stoic revealed his weak side to the mare.

           She only sighed and nuzzled his neck, realizing he had many demons inside to conquer.

Lawrence continued on his quest. He walked down past the great lakes and into the USA where he then headed back east through Minnestota, both Dakotas, and into Montana. 

Just outside Fort Benton, he came across a group of spirited fillies playing in a field. Alas, the field was fenced so he hid in the woods until dark. He rolled in mud to hide his shining white coat. A full moon ruled the sky, and he would have glowed like a beacon. There was a horse in the field whose coat indeed glowed- she was an ethereal beauty, a mare for Diana to ride through the heavens! He gracefully leapt the wooden pickets and was mesmerized by the white filly as he approached her.

She looked up from her grazing and laughed at him. ”Why are you covered in mud?”

           Lawrence then understood her amusement, he’d forgotten about the mud. “It’s camouflage. I don’t want any humans trapping me, I’m on a mission you see…” He told her of his long and seemingly futile quest. He didn’t mention that he’d rather not be seen by any of the other herd members. They would jeer at his horn and call him names before running him off their field.

When he finished talking, the mare said, “The human family is away this week. The caretaker is a lazy drunk, he often forgets to put us in the stables at night. We like it better out here anyways, because the man rarely lifts a pitchfork to our stalls.”

The field was over ten acres long. Babs, the beautiful white mare, led Lawrence to a private corner far from the others.

He left her sleeping in the tall untended grass in the wee hours of morning. It was pitch black and silent as a gravestone except for the soft whooting from the trees ahead. The owl seemed to be talking to him, asking, “Who who whooooo are you? Where do yoooou belong? Are yooou real?”

As he walked, the cosmos above the world brightened from the deepest azure to bright robin’s egg. The mud became itchy as it dried in the sun. When he came to a still green pond in the woods he peered in at his reflection.

“Oh my goodness!” he thought, “I’m a hobo!” He cleansed himself in the pool. The invigorating water woke his senses and he continued on his quest with renewed energy.

Lawrence walked down the coast all the way to the tip of the Baja Peninsula, and then back all through Mexico. During his travels through the warm climates, his coat once again grew sleek, the thick shaggy white fur molted away, and he enjoyed the heat on his back. 

He travelled all the way down to El Quique then came back up the coast and into Argentina. There he met a wonderfully wild herd of plains ponies. They were as spirited as the sprites of spring. And as generous as the best of the horse breeds he’d met. They shared their sweet green grass and a special one that only grew in their

land, it was red and stained their muzzles like kisses from the devil. They had heard of unicorns but always thought them myth. This was depressing and exhilarating at the same time. 

Amongst their herd he met the princess of them. A pearl white pony, her coat so shimmering, it shone blueish in the twilight. Few words were spoken aloud, her eyes gave him her consent.

In the afterglow of their lovemaking, the pretty pony, Jeni, asked, “Why must you leave? You’ve been so far and wide without sign of your own kind. Can’t you settle here? And be with me?”

           Lawrence said, “I do not feel welcome here. The stallions talk behind my back and make jests towards me in public.”

 “They are jealous! Can you not see that?”

        “I just want to fit in! I feel so alone!” Lawrence shook his mane in frustration. He needed to decide some things. He thought his best profound thoughts while walking, so he headed off the next morning before any of the stallions awoke.

Lawrence walked all the way to Argentina.

           In Argentina, he found a wild mustang herd. The elders of the tribe had heard many fascinating tales about unicorns. Maidre, one of the elders said, “Though we have heard the tales, we didn’t think they really existed.”

           “But of course they existed, I am one.” Lawrence said.

           Maidra replied, “Yes! Here you are! I can die happy now, knowing unicorns are real!”

           “But I’m the only one! I’m not like the other horses and they hate me for it!” cried Lawrence.

           The elder said, “For someone so old as you, and so travelled, you still have so much to learn.”

Lawrence left the meadow of the great mustang elders and pondered his dilemma. He was not like them. He was different. He had a horn in the middle of his forehead. Once, many centuries ago, the males of his species had used the horns to attack and fight over the fair females who were hornless. Lawrence never wanted to attack another horse, it would be unfair. He wanted to belong with a herd. He wanted to fit in.

When he got to Brazil he came across a wild herd of Andalusians. They were his size and shape. Their princess took a liking to Lawrence immediately. She was sleek and strong, with a shiny coat nearly all white except for a scattering of soft grey freckles on her hindside. Her long silky mane and tail the same dove grey. Her name was Bella.

She said to Lawrence, “please stay with our herd. I’ve never met any horse like you. I want to be your mate forever.”

           The unicorn said, “I’m so tired and I have known only loneliness for so long, I wish I could settle here with you…but your herd leader hates me. He feels threatened by my horn. I have no desire to usurp him, but he doesn’t trust me.”

           “Gammal is my father, he wants me to be happy. He is quite old now and wishes me to rule the herd. I can’t do it alone, no mare would ever be as respected as a stallion.”

           “I have a tough decision to make.” Lawrence announced as he turned away from her. 

           “I pray you decide in my favor Lawrence.” She said to his back as he clopped away.

Lawrence walked into a forest and found a strong sturdy tree. He rammed the tree with his horn, it sank halfway into its bark. Then he shook his head, his powerful neck snapped off the horn with a reverberant crack. He galloped back to the herd. He went to the princess mare and bowed low. 

Bella said, “What have you done?!”

           Lawrence replied, “I want to settle here with you! And your tribe. I’m done my quest. There are no more unicorns.”

           “I can’t be with you now! I loved you for your uniqueness, the horn made you a legend. Now you are just another horse.” She sighed heavily.

“You should have become our leader, with me, as queen at your side.”

           Lawrence’s long silken mane trembled with disbelief. Dumbfounded, he slowly plodded away into a herd that welcomed him as family.  Bella’s father chose a suitable young stallion for her, and life on the plains was peaceful. Gammal left on his funeral journey shortly afterwards, the horses would not see him again until thier own journey was complete.

Lawrence lived peacefully within the herd, the stallions his friends and allies, and the mares like sisters. He was content, and grew quite old. His eyesight was failing and his ears twitched with palsy. In his great heart remained an immense loneliness. 

“What else should I have done?” he lamented night after night before lifting off to the macrocosm of dreams.

One day he felt the winged warrior, the death-stallion, silently bearing down upon him. It was time for his funeral journey. He clopped up the Warrier’s Hill, past the ancient pines and the whispering yellow meadow grass, to where all the herd go to die. He’d earned his right to die there by becoming one of them. 

As he lay down for his final rest, Bella came to him.

She said, “Lawrence, please open your weary eyes one last time.”

Lawrence, who had been lamenting on his bad decision for the last time, opened his eyes. They were out of focus, though he imagined he saw six pure white stallions gathered around Bella who was smiling,

“These children have been searching the continent for their father and in doing so, found each other along the way.”

Lawrence’s old eyes finally focused as he came back from the brink of the Heavenly Path to the Promised Pasture. 

The six young horses before him ranged in age from mere foals to full grown young stallions. Their coats were radiating snowy white in the low dusk light...

And he gasped when he saw that each one had a pointed, spiraled horn growing from his forehead! They were the handsomest, most alluring creatures he’d ever seen. He knew they would hear all about his legendary travels and the terrible decision he’d foolishly made. And he felt in his heart that none of them would make the same mistake.

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