[Firebringer 02] - Dark Moon by Meredith Ann Pierce

gaze darted from his mooncrested brow to his steaming breath to his fly-whisk tail. Catching the firelight, the dark skewer of his horn glinted.
    Behind her, the black figurine with its hornless unicorn’s head stood wreathed in smoke, its chest emblazoned with a silver crescent, the hornlike skewer clasped in one forepaw, the frayed vine dangling from the other. The two-foot leader’s words came in a rush.
    “Dai’chon,” she whispered, crumpling to the ground. “Dai’chon!”
    She pressed her forehead to the sand. Confused, the dark unicorn gazed at her. Had she collapsed from fear? Unsteadily, he descended the pit’s sandy, glassy slope and nosed her gently. The black hair on her head smelled clean and very fine, like a new colt’s mane. Trembling, she raised her head. Carefully, he tried to repeat her words.
    “Taichan,” he managed, but his mouth found the strangely inflected syllables almost impossible to frame. He tried again: “Daijan.”
    “Tai-shan?” the other said suddenly.
    She touched the moon image upon her breast and gazed at the pale crescent underscoring the horn on his brow.
    “Tai-zhan,” he tried, finding that a bit easier. “Tai-shan.”
    The creature before him listened, rapt. The dark unicorn snorted, not pleased with his awkwardness. The two-foot language was full of odd chirps and grunts.
    “Forgive me,” he told her, reverting to his own tongue. “I mean you no harm.“
    The crackling blaze of the fire drew him. He stepped nearer, trembling with cold. The two-foot made no move to halt him, only gazed at him as though spellbound. Dried fruit, fragrant seed grass, and other offerings lay strewn about the sand. Hungrily, the dark unicorn eyed the tempting stuff.
    “May I share your forage?” he asked. “I’ve found little but bitter bark and shoreoats for…for many days.”
    His thoughts remained tangled, his memory confused. He could recall nothing from before his emergence from the sea. Still kneeling before him, the other made no reply. Unable to resist, the dark unicorn bent his head to a branch of thornfruits at his feet. Tough and leathery, they nonetheless smacked more succulent to him than the tenderest spring grass. He found himself tearing into the prickly rounds, unable to stop. He scarcely noticed when the green-clad two-foot softly rose and drew nearer.
    “Tai-shan,” she said gently, as if caressing the word. “Tai-shan.”
    She held something out to him in one graceful, smooth skinned paw. The thing smelled like nutmeats, but sweeter, and resembled a large brown seedpod. He had never seen such a thing before. Curious, he bent to take the flattened oblong and ground it between his teeth. Honey. It tasted of honey—all sugary and waxless and free of angry, swarming bees. It also tasted of the crisp kernels of hazel trees, but without the fibrous shells. Deliciously warm, the thing was crusted on the outside, softer within.
    She held out another of the honey nutpods, offering it, too. Eagerly he accepted, and the next she fed him, and the next. Picking among the scattered leavings of her followers, the twofoot leader brought him grasses, fruits, herbs, followed by a long drink of clear water from a vessel hollowed out of wood. Ravenous, the dark unicorn ate of the firekeepers’ strange, rich provender until he thought he would founder. His first full belly in weeks and the delicious heat of the dancing blaze made him suddenly, unutterably drowsy. He could not have kept his eyes open a moment more or taken another step if he had wanted to.
    His knees gave. He stretched himself out on the warm dry sand. The two-foot seated herself beside him. He felt her gentle touch along his neck and laid his head upon her flanks. She stroked his cheek and chin, combing the long, nimble digits of her forepaws through his matted mane. The dark unicorn closed his eyes. Beside him, the bright flames crackled and hissed. Weeks ago, the mysterious voice had bade him seek out fire,