Chapter 1

All the forest creatures gathered in the glade. There was a pressing need. Nibblemoss the rabbit was there, trailed by quite a number of kits, and his doe. The squirrels were there, all propped up in the high grass nervously looking left and right. The deer came in. The does laid in the grass as the proud bucks stood, chests held high. The crows, small birds, and an old, old owl stayed in the trees on the edge of the forest. Watching. Then the bear came. He came lumbering in to the center of the glade and sat in the grass. He huffed a bearish sigh as dandelions swirled through the air in his wake. All the other animals were silent. Waiting. He sat, head bowed for a few moments, then he spoke. A deep, resonant, growling voice filled the glade. “As you all may know, there is a danger that threatens our forest.”

There were murmurs among the animals. Chirps and chitters and whispers. “Danger? Danger. Danger!”

Bear let out a low growl, and there was a hush again, “I do not gather you all lightly, but as the bear it is my right to call upon those who dwell in the forest.”

The animals stopped fidgeting and took a solemn posture. The varied voices all spoke in a ritual unison, “It is your right. The forest is our mother, and the bear is her son.”

Then they all waited; still. They all knew that in this moment they were perfectly safe in the presence of such a fearsome predator. The ancient laws of the forest dictated that when gathered in the glade in this manner, no animal may shed blood.

“Owl!” The bear growled. The owl swooped down and landed on a stump. The rodents and squirrels flinched instinctively, but then calmed. Bear continued, “You are speaker for the feathered ones. I call upon your wings. Have you seen this thing, the thing of which I speak?”

The owl ruffled his feathers and swiveled his head left and right, then he began to speak in a hooty, breathy sort of way, “I speak for those who rule the air. My feathered brethren have sent word.” Normally the animals did not speak so formally like this, but right now everything was very ritual and it was the way of the ancient laws.

The bear became still and solemn, his head slightly bowed. He spoke slowly and deliberately, “And what news do your brethren bring, speaker of the feathered ones?”

“They bring more than mere tales, son of the forest. Hooooot! I call upon the winged watchers, for their eyes see many things.” The owl rasped.

Immediately, a big crow swooped down next to the owl. He had grey beard feathers and held his head high.

In a hushed tone, the owl said, “Present the dreaded token, master Graybeard.”

Clutched in the crow’s claw was a white horn. It was a strange spiraled horn. He carefully set it on the stump and took a hop backwards, ruffling his feathers and bowing his head. The object seemed to glint in the sunlight. The base of the horn was bloodied.

There was an unanimous gasp and then a growing din of muttering, chittering and distressed whispers. The deer were huffing, the rodents squeaking and the little birds were all chirps and wings a-flap. Only the crows sat still and solemn in the trees.

After a few moments the bear sighed and then bellowed, “Quiet! You all know what this means. A unicorn has fallen.”

The animals became still. Quiet. Watching.

Then the bear continued, “A peril has come to this forest, the likes of which have not been seen since these mighty oaks first took root.”

Then suddenly in unison the animals declared in a solemn tone, “Purest of beasts. Her hooves make the meadows grow. Her horn uproots darkness and decay. The mother’s own steed. Purest of beasts.”

They all looked at each other in sad confusion. Every forest animal, from the mightiest stag, to the tiniest shrew knew of the unicorn in a legendary sort of way. Only a lucky few had caught brief glimpses. None of the animals knew the exact role the unicorns played in the forest, except the tales and rituals passed down through time. But seeing that bloodied horn sitting there on that stump—they knew a great light had gone out of the world. They felt that to their core. They felt an emptiness that made way for just a little darkness. A darkness that kept growing. An ancient horror that none of them understood.

The animals started to fidget again—fear suddenly beset them. The ritual glue that held them in that glade was weakening. Their animal instincts to flee began to take hold. Birds flapped, squirrels scampered, deer darted erratically. The bear began to growl and call for order, but it was too late. He stood up, and that only sent them over the edge. It seemed it would take a miracle to bring sanity back to the chaos that has taken hold of the animals.

And then a miracle came. An incredible gust of wind blew through the glade. The trees shook and the tall grass bowed and whipped. It was like a great hushing. And the animals were still. They were snapped out of the fear as quickly as they had been overcome by it. They looked to the bear who was still standing. Even he looked curiously at the trees. The wind stilled.

Then the horn moved. It turned in a sudden snapping motion and then slowed down. The owl and crow who had still been sitting on the stump jumped back and flew to a nearby branch. Every eye watched, enraptured, as the horn slowly continued to turn. It turned until it came to rest, pointing at no-one. It pointed somewhere toward the west and stood still. The animals stared at the horn and at the treeline and back to the horn. The horn merely pointed to the edge of the forest—once their familiar home, now seemingly ominous and foreboding.

The bear looked as well. They were all bewildered and entranced for a good while.

Then, finally, the bear spoke. “We will go. We must go.”

The animals gathered closer to the center of the glade where the bear who was still standing, once again sat.

Carefully, the bear touched the horn. He moved it a little and it snapped back to the west. He nodded.

The animals came again closer. A terrible fear still beset them, but a different fear. A fear they were facing together.

They suddenly felt a powerful kinship with the bear, and with each other. They now looked to the bear to lead them in this purpose. With the unicorn gone, only the son of the forest remained. And the mantle of their safety and the preservation of their home fell on him, as always. At other times, the animals feared the bear, yes. But it was a fear that was more like respect and awe. He was more than just a feared predator, he had his role in the forest, as did they all. The bear’s place was to watch over the forest and protect them from greater threats. They took comfort in that. Yes, he may feast upon one or two of them, if hunger drove him, but that was proper. He mostly stayed to the trout at the stream anyway. They never questioned it. It was the way of things.

But now the bear was calling upon them. Very seldom did this happen. An ancient instinct was kindled in their bosoms. A greater purpose. Something higher than gathering nuts, and foraging for food and nibbling grass. In this moment the animals were one.