Chance had never gone this far north into Equinox.
As the stallions dragged him into Water Clan’s camp, he was greeted with a variety of aggressive responses and scenes. The Water Clan unicorns were mainly black, silver, and blue roan, with white and blue colored horns twisted into a thin point like a deadly vine. As soon as they caught sight of him, they reared, cloven hooves striking the air and the stallion’s thick lion’s manes flying before they slashed downward with their deadly horns– or claids, he supposed.
“Yer not welcome here, Foggy!” One mare screamed with a blood-curdling pitch.
I wonder why they keep calling me that. He should have brushed up on his languages long ago… perhaps it would make for a less confusing experience now.
There were funny large round things stuck halfway up the trees, connected with vines and wood planks. The mare named Cat caught him staring at them. “You’ve never seen a mut before?”
Mut. What a strange word. He shook his head. “What are they?”
The grulla mare swished her ropy tail. “Mud and marsh grass, stuck together into secure homes. Rains a lot here, which is why we plant the vines and palm leaves at the top.” She nodded towards the spiky leaves sticking out of the top like a torn mane. “Drains the water into the swamp.”
“No talkin’ to the foggy, Cat.” Commander Moss snorted.
Cat huffed and returned to her former place in their odd party. Chance decided he liked Cat and her brisk manners more than Glade and Marsh and their overeagerness to split him in two.
His gaze wandered again. There were some younger Water Clan unicorns being taught magic. Although their eyes kept turning toward him, wide and curious, an angry bark from the stallion in charge directed their eyes the right way. One of the fillies demonstrated water kinesis by channeling the water into a loop-de-loop through the air.
Ah, that’s right. They don’t have Talents. Just magic, specific to their clan. Chance shivered his skin, remembering the magic Fireheart used to burn his wings.
Thank goodness I’m not in Fire Clan.
A large blue roan stallion with dark blue eyes and a pale blue horn stood at the end of the camp in front of the biggest mut, his beard thick and dangling nearly down to his knees. Several colorful spikes were woven into his mane, giving him a sort of headdress of broken horns from his rivals.
Rivernight, Chief of Water Clan. At least his studies when he was heir provided that much information for him to work with.
A black mare with a white horn stood next to him on Rivernight’s left, and on his other side was a young filly with a silver-white hide and perceiving blue-green eyes. From her broken, jagged horn and small size, he guessed this was the Willowlake he’d overheard his captors talking about– the bonphrionsa, whatever that was.
“Hail Rivernight, Irismoon, Righ and Banrion of Water Clan!” Commander Moss bowed his head in respect, stretching out one foreleg. Cat, Marsh, and Glade followed, Glade poking Chance sharply in the ribs with his claid.
“Bow for the Righ, Foggy.” He said. “‘Tis only proper.”
Knowing he was a stranger in these lands, Chance bowed, straining the scars on his back with the muscle memory of opening his wings. But he didn’t have wings– hadn’t had them for a while. The shame made his face burn.
“I see ya’ve brought a Foggy ta me, Commander Moss. A Grounded Foggy, at that.” Rivernight, the stallion, stared at Chance down his large nose, as if examining the round white scars on Chance’s back. It took everything in his willpower to not shiver.
“I figured ‘e was.” Commander Moss grunted. “Saw the scars. Only Grounded Foggys ‘ave scars like tat.”
“Whut are ya doing outside of yer territory, Foggy?” Rivernight snorted.
Chance blinked, not understanding exactly what the chief was saying.
“Yer one of the fogran. A flier. Not a draiocht. That’s us.” Glade explained, trying to be helpful.
“Thank ye fer that unnecessary lessen, Glade.” Rivernight snapped. He looked over Chance. “Why are ya here in our territery?”
“Oh, he already told us that.” Glade chuckled. “Says ‘e was tryin’ ta get ta the Dawnlands. The Dawnlands. Crazy as a loony, he is.”
“SHADDUP, GLADE!” Moss roared, striking the younger stallion with a cloven hoof. Glade backed up, much subdued and quite bruised.
“I really was just trying to go to the Dawnlands.” Chance said. “I meant to stay in the Neutrals, but found myself unexpectedly in the Water Clan territory. Your warriors found me as I was leaving.”
“A likely story, Foggy!” Mosse shouted. “Yer probably a spy for one of the Tribes. Whut should we do with ‘im, sire? Tear him limb ta limb?”
Marsh and Glade looked unusually excited at that prospect. Chance’s neck prickled.
“Put ‘im in the barmut. Tonight’s the Gealach Lan feast and while I do like a good limb-splittin’, ter are more pressin’ matters.” Rivernight said, exchanging glances with Irismoon. “Now be gone with ye!”
“Ya heard the Righ!” Glade kicked Chance in the leg, his hoof missing the limb entirely. “Come on now! Git moving!”
“Daidi,” Willowlake’s soft, tender voice pleaded, directed toward Rivernight.
Rivernight jerked his head up in a silent command that clearly meant stop. “What is yer wish, chara?”
Chance held his breath, unsure of what the unicorn princess wanted with him
“The barmut flooded last week, did it not?” Her enunciation was clear, with only a faint accent. It was dainty and merciful and for the first time Chance felt a flutter of hope.
“Does it matter whether it flooded ‘er not?” Rivernight asked. “He is only a Foggy.”
“Do you not remember the Battle of Anger many years ago, when Grandfather, the honorable Bognight, asked for the assistance of several pegasi tribes when several of our members had been captured by the Shakira?” She asked. “Does this stallion not deserve the same mercy and grace they showed us? Let him be a guest in our camp.”
“She’s as sharp as a gator’s tooth, that Willowlake!” Glade said to Chancea little too loudly.
Rivernight shot a glare at him before turning back to Willowlake. “Chara, you must understand…” He looked as if he was about to go, but then something changed as Rivernight paused to look at Willowlake. A smile spread on his face. “All right then, my dear.”
Chance’s stomach turned at the way he said it. Rivernight was hiding something. No doubt about it. But the stalions holding him groaned and released his mane and tail, following their commander at another bark of orders.
Willowlake stepped forward. As she did, Chance saw that she was much older than he originally thought– not a filly at all, but a grown mare, crippled by dwarfism.
She’s probably near the same age as Sunrise.
“I am Willowlake, inion of Rivernight.” A soft smile decorated her surprisingly beautiful face. “Will you not join me as my honored guest tonight? It is the Full Moon and there is to be a feast.”
Chance was breathless. Her voice and soft tone were so similar to Sunrise it made his chest ache.
Would there ever be a time when everything didn’t always remind him of her?
She cocked her head. “Are you well?”
He nodded. “Yes. Can I ask… why is your speech so clear?”
She dipped her head down, tears shimmering in her eyes.
His heart wrenched. “I’m sorry, did I strike a nerve?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I was given a nursemare, since my mother was unwell at the time of my birth. She taught me to speak with clarity.”
“She sounds very kind.” Chance said, wondering what had happened to the nursemare that brought tears to the unicorn’s eyes when she remembered her.
“She was.” Willowlake agreed, looking thoughtful. She turned her green eyes toward Chance. “I never got your name.”
“Chance, of Prairie Tribe.”
“What was your name before your grounding?”
Chance jerked his head up. “You know our culture?”
“I was well brought-up.” She tossed her forelock. “What was it?
“Nightleaf.”
“That’s a… significant change of name.”
“I was Chance before I was grounded.”
“I see.” She studied him for a moment with her deep eyes. Then she smiled. “Well, shall you?”
“Shall I what?” Chance completely forgot what they had originally been talking about.
“Join me for the Gealach Lan feast as my honored guest?”
“Oh!” Chance bobbed his head. “Yes, of course.”
“Wonderful.” Her eyes flitted over to her father with something like distrust. “There’s something you should know about my father… he’s a dangerous stallion. Don’t–”
She cut off abruptly as Rivernight trotted over. “Chara, dear, there is still much to plan for the feast tonight.”
“Of course, daidi.” She flashed a look of warning to Chance before following Rivernight back to their large mut in the trees.
Chance’s head whirled. Willowlake had been trying to warn him about something. His gut was right– Rivernight was not to be trusted.
But why would a unicorn help a pegasus?