The Gate to Fenrith Lei : The Rules of Blue and White

Wordcount: words
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: I’m not listening lalala…

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The Rules of Blue and White

They walked along in silence for a while, following Cat’s rather leisurely pace. The dirt path was lined with wagon ruts, but none of them looked recent and Wendy wondered how far they were from civilization. After all, the Plains of Grass took up a rather significant portion of the maps Heather had drawn. She suspected that had more to do with the fact plains were an easy shade of tan while other geographic features took a little more time to color. Most of Velanon was either forest or plains, come to think of it. She glanced at her equine companion out of the corner of her eye, but the horse seemed content to simply plod along forever. Time to find out why.

“So,” Wendy looked for a tactful way to approach the situation, but nothing came to mind. “What are you, really?”

“What?” The horse’s stride faltered and his head bobbed upwards.

Wendy gave him the same pitying look he’d given her back at the gate. “Well, you’re a spotlessly white horse with sky blue eyes and you talk. There’s a better than even chance that you’re not actually a horse.”

“Am too!”

“Are not.” She eyed him thoughtfully, “I can just start guessing and I’m sure Cat will let me know when I guess right.” There was an agreeable maow from ahead and she grinned. “Thought so.”

“What about the mystery? The suspense?” The horse snorted. “You hav’ta leave some things alone or the story’s no good ya know.”

Wendy raised an eyebrow, “Fine by me.” Then after a pause, “Fairy Godmother?”


“Enspelled? Cursed?” And now the horse had its ears pinned back and had picked up the pace, she grinned and jogged after him. “Guardian spirit? Parental substitute? Demon? Dragon?” She blinked. “Unicorn!” And the horse broke into a gallop, leaving her behind. She stopped, panting from the run and waited for Cat to catch up. “I’m right, aren’t I. He’s one of the unicorns.”

Cat sniffed, and continued ambling down the path.

“Ha.” She straightened, wincing as her hip protested the combination of the earlier fall and the recent jog. “Comet?” Cat ignored her. “Winterlight?” Still no response. “Moonstar then.”

Cat stopped to groom, and she tried to remember which unicorn Moonstar had been. Six years of stories were a lot to remember, but she was pretty sure the unicorns had come into the story one at a time. Comet had to have been first, he was the stuffed unicorn Aunt Gillie had given Heather for her fourth birthday. Winterlight was… ah, that’s right, Winterlight was the funny colored plastic unicorn she’d picked from a host of identical models on the tack shop shelves when she was nine. Which meant Moonstar was the most recent; the heavy painted resin statue, bought this summer with money earned from yardwork for Mrs. Ven.

Moonstar was a twelve year-old’s unicorn. A grownup‘s unicorn.


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Martha Bechtel

My name is Martha Bechtel and I write fantasy and science fiction stories, paint small model horses silly colors, cast resin and plaster magnets, code random code (and Wordpress plugins)... Come on in and join in the fun!

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