Schaeffer moved into a jog with the rest of them. She was solidly built, but fit, and running was easy. The pace the elves set wasn’t hard, just a constant, steady jog, allowing for rough ground and obstacles. Felen stayed with the main group, but two others fanned out slightly ahead of him. Schaeffer followed Sereila, being careful not to travel right on the she-elf’s heels. There was no way she wanted to make Sereila fall...or to trip, herself.

  They travelled quickly through the growing shadows, feeling the air cool around them as the sun sank. Grass and leaves crackled softly under foot, and, every now and then, a twig cracked, but none of them spoke. Only the birds called, their voices breaking the silence.

  Schaeffer was starting to have trouble seeing the ground before her, when sharp calls of alarm came from ahead, and the sound of hurried wings reached their ears. The runners out in front sank to their knees, each raising a hand to shoulder height. As one, the patrol dropped to the ground, and Schaeffer followed suit.

  They waited for the bird cries to fade, their ears straining for any sound that might reveal what had caused the birds to take flight instead of settling down to roost. At first there was nothing, but then they heard footsteps—three or four rapid steps, soft, but not stealthy, the product of soft ground rather than deliberate design. After a few heartbeats, Schaeffer thought she could hear breathing.

  Looking around her, she caught sight of the rest of the team stealing glances at their leader. Sereila gestured for them to stay still, gesturing downward with one hand, like she was patting the air. The team stayed down, waiting. The footsteps came closer.

  Schaeffer waited, looking in the direction of the footsteps. Slowly, wending its way through the shadows, came Winsome’s familiar slender figure. She moved softly through the trees, cautious with the coming dark. Her nervousness was betrayed by the wary turn of her head as she scanned her surroundings.

  She must have seen something in the area the elves were waiting, for she paused. It was momentary, the briefest hitch in her step, as she tried to conceal that she had noticed anything amiss, but she changed direction slightly, angling away from the main body of the elves, while still maintaining her desired direction.

  What Sereila or Felen might have done in response was lost in the shrill shriek of an outraged neigh. Winsome forgot whatever she thought she’d seen. She lifted her head, as though taking direction from the sky and the land around her, and started to run.

  Schaeffer rose to her feet, and began to bolt after her, but she was jerked short by Sereila. The she-elf pulled her toward one of the snow gums. Its branches forked at chest height, and its trunk almost a meter wide.

  “Up!” the elf cried, pushing Schaeffer toward the tree. “Get as high as you can!”

  Schaeffer didn’t ask why. The ground trembled beneath her feet, and the angry scream came again. It sent chills through her blood.

  Did unicorns hunt?

  She scrambled up onto the forked branch, and then kept climbing. She didn’t know if unicorns would put their fore-hooves against the bark in an attempt to reach higher, but she didn’t want to find out while she was within range. Below her, Sereila ran from the tree.

  “Don’t come down until I tell you!” she cried.

  It was partly with relief, and partly with disappointment that Schaeffer watched the she-elf leave. She wanted to get down and follow, but she figured Sereila hadn’t brought her along just to abandon her in some gum tree. No, there was something in that unicorn scream that had made the elf decide Schaeffer was safer up high.

  Schaeffer settled into the highest branch she could reach and waited.

  It didn’t take long for the unicorns to appear. Their light-colored forms flowed beneath the trees like puffs of smoke. They stopped when they reached her tree, snuffing at the ground, and pawing where Schaeffer’s steps had crossed. Slowly, one by one, they approached the trunk, snuffing and snorting as they came.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  When they had gathered beneath her, they looked up, and Schaeffer had never felt so vulnerable in her life. Even though, she knew she was well above their reach, the looks they turned in her direction made her stomach shrink, and her innards ice over. If she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn they were hunting. She was startled when something tugged at her hair and spoke quietly in her ear.

  “Trust me,” a tiny voice said. “You must descend to meet them.”

  “But Sereila said—”

  “The she-elf knows much, but she is wrong in this. Descend!” the small voice ordered.

  “Descend,” it urged, when Schaeffer hesitated. “I would not risk Sereila’s wrath if I did not know you would survive. You might not, if you do not go down to meet them.”

  Turning her head, Schaeffer saw a small woman standing on her shoulder. She had snow-white hair held in place by a thin silver chain, and her dress was made of flower petals. Paper daisies, if Schaeffer was not mistaken. The woman had a serious expression on her face, one tinged by anxiety as she hovered beside Schaeffer’s head.

  “You must not keep them waiting.”

  And Schaeffer obeyed.

  “I’m coming,” she told the unicorns, feeling for the hand- and toe-holds she had used to climb. “I do not mean to make you wait.”

  The unicorn closest to the tree snorted, tossing its head as it watched her. All around it, the other horse-like creatures did the same.

  “Hurry,” the pixie urged. “They must not delay. They must know you are friend.”

  Schaeffer tried to speed her descent, and her foot missed the hold she was relying on, just as her hand missed the branch above. She fell, plummeting out of the tree to land, on her back, at the unicorn’s feet.

  For a moment, she saw nothing, and then her vision cleared. The unicorn’s head swept down, its nostrils stopping millimeters from Schaeffer’s face. She watched them flaring, felt its warm breath on her cheek as it snuffed at her skin, flinched as its hoof came crashing down beside her head.

  It whinnied, a high-pitched cry, followed by a series of low rumbling sounds as it backed slowly away. Schaeffer pushed herself into a sitting position, just in time for the next unicorn to approach and nudge her in the chest with its nose. It, too, took a deep breath, before wheeling away.

  Two others approached, after that, but neither did more than snuff at her shirt, before cantering off into the growing night. The others just trotted into the dark after their leader.

  “Hey, Silver,” Schaeffer called, hoping the pixie woman would know she needed her. “Hey. I need to know where Sereila went.”

  For a moment, there was no reply, then the pixie appeared in front of her, her pale features glimmering in the near dark.

  “No, you need to follow me. You need to find shelter. The trolls are coming.”

  “I… What?”

  “The trolls! They wake, and they are perplexed. Much has happened, today. You must come with me,” and the pixie held out her hand.

  Schaeffer didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, she badly wanted to catch up with Sereila, but, on the other, she was terrified of trolls. She had seen the aftermath of their encounters with humans. She did not want to end up like that.

  A low growl echoed through the trees, accompanied by the hint of a terrible stench, and Schaeffer stretched her hand toward the pixie. The little creature did not wait; she took hold of Schaeffer’s finger and pulled her forward.

  “Hurry!” she said. “Oh, hurry! Being up a tree will not save you. Not that one, anyway. Hurry! This way! This way!”

  And Schaeffer ran, keeping her eyes on the slight glimmer that was the pixie’s almost-silver hair, and hoping her feet didn’t find a reason to stumble. She could not see the ground, could not hope to avoid any hole or rock that might trip her over. Behind her the growl dissipated into a series of hiccupping grunts, punctuated by what sounded like something large sniffing at the air.

  “Oh, God,” she murmured, but the pixie jerked on her finger.

  “Hush! Do not say such things. Do not! Do not! This way!”

  And Schaeffer ran after her, following the inexorable draw on her finger, and all too aware of something big crashing through the trees in her wake. The pixie pulled her down.

  “Under here. Down. Beneath the branches.”

  Schaeffer had the impression of a tangle of branches reaching toward her. She raised her free hand to protect her face and dropped to her hands and knees, scrambling forward into a patch of night darker than what she’d been running through. Perhaps the troll could not see her, here…

  The pixie let go of her hand and appeared just in front of her face, tugging at her hair when she hesitated.

  “Don’t stop!” it commanded. “Don’t stop! The little ones are coming!”

  Little ones? but Schaeffer could already hear the scurrying of a multitude of feet, and the sounds of enough snuffling and grunting to make up a herd of baby pigs…except piglets wouldn’t be so relaxed with a troll on the prowl. She squirmed forward, until she felt herself pull free of the last twig to try and tangle in her hair.

  “This way! This way!” the pixie urged. “We must ask the lady of the tree for shelter.”

  The lady of the tree? Schaeffer thought. Surely, she doesn’t mean…

  But the pixie did mean what Schaeffer thought, and she felt the small creature take her by the hand, once more, and draw her to her feet.