Wonder Light by R. R. Russell Page A

white-knuckled fistful of cloak and wiped his face, and then he looked right at Twig and came in. He was shaking violently, uncontrollably. He clutched his cloak around him, against the weather and the fear, so that Twig wanted to offer him her shell.
    â€œYou cannot tell anyone,” he said hoarsely.
    Twig shook her head. “I don’t tell people things,” she said, “just to tell people things.”
    He regarded her for a moment, then gave her a nod of acceptance.
    â€œShe was a unicorn,” Twig whispered. “And now she’s…”
    She hadn’t expected a reply, but the wild boy turned his eyes on her, eyes burning with sharp, fresh grief, and he said, “Gone! She’s not the only one. And if you don’t take care of her”—he pointed at the filly—“it will all be for nothing.”
    â€œMe?”
    â€œShe trusted you. Her filly will too.”
    â€œBut—”
    He shook his head sharply. Before Twig could ask what he meant and who he was and what was going on, an eerie horse howl blew into the stable on the tail of a vicious, wet whip of wind. The boy spun on his heel and sprinted out of the stable, leaving Twig standing there in the aisle with the wakeful ponies squealing and tossing their heads on either side and the filly plaintively crying out behind her.
    Twig hurried back to the stall, where the filly lay with her spindly forelegs bent up as though she had tried to use them to rise, to do something, even in her innocence and confusion. She looked at Twig with big, lonely quicksilver eyes just like Mystery’s. But beside her, there was nothing but an impression in the bedding and the mess from the birth. Her mother’s place was empty. Mystery was gone.
    What was she going to tell Mrs. Murley about that? Mystery’s little filly was still here, making it impossible for any of them to lie to themselves about Mystery’s existence, to shove her into a distant corner of memory, into the cobweb of things too difficult to understand. Worse, the filly boasted her own little bit of a unicorn horn! Twig supposed it would grow as she grew, much as a deer’s antlers grew as it matured. There would be no ignoring that.
    Quickly, Twig crouched beside the filly. She touched her fingertip to the little horn nub. She pressed it gently, and it went down, just as Mystery’s had when the wild boy had done the same. The filly laid her head in Twig’s lap. Twig let her nuzzle her hand, and she rubbed her neck the way the wild boy had rubbed Mystery’s, but she didn’t tell her that everything was going to be all right, because there were things howling outside, and she didn’t know. She just didn’t know.
    Mrs. Murley rushed into the stable. “I’m sorry I took so long. Casey woke up, and then Mandy and Regina. I just got them settled.” She stopped short at the open stall door. “Twig? She’s foaled!” Then, searching the stall and after that the stable behind her, she asked, “Where is Mystery?”
    Twig licked her dry lips. She shook her head. “She’s gone. I don’t know. She’s just—gone.”
    â€œWell, she can’t have gone far, just after foaling. But why would she leave her little filly? It’s just not right.”
    Twig burned to defend the mare. She wouldn’t have left her filly if she’d had any choice. That had been clear in her final cries, her last efforts to face the threat in the woods, to protect her from it.
    â€œMr. Murley’s outside, checking the yard. He’s sure he latched that gate, but of course there’s no sign of anyone—all the girls are in their beds and—I’ll tell him she’s missing, and then I’ll be right back to have a better look at this little girl.”
    After Mrs. Murley ran back out, Twig got a blanket from the tack room. The filly would be cold without her mother, all alone in a