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Heat.
Suffocating, encompassing heat.
It fills her lungs, burning them to cinders; licks at her hooves, turning them to ash; swallows her footsteps, swallows her, until there’s nothing but the fleeting memory of her left in the world. Swallows them all.
She wakes with a cry, tossing her head to rid herself of the awful, cloying scent of smoke, the musk of the Bull, the ragged, gleeful laughter of a hateful King. Her flanks shiver with fear, her surroundings a blur, her lilac wood and the haggard halls of the Bull’s keep becoming one, leaving her trapped –
“Be still,” a familiar voice soothes, soft and lulling, like a song. “Shh, my Lady, be still. It was nothing but a dream.”
“A dream,” she repeats, her voice shaken. She stamps her hooves, hoping to shake the lingering fear from her skin.
“A nightmare,” the voice continues, and then there are hands, long-fingered and tinged with the scent of magic, smoothing over her neck. Schmendrick, it’s only Schmendrick, as familiar to her now as the forest she calls home.
She eases into his touch with a breath that trembles as it leaves her mouth. “The Bull,” she starts, though she knows not what she means to say next. The words stick to her throat like barbs, and she is unable to spill more than a sound of discontent.
“Gone,” Schmendrick tells her, his voice firm. “Driven into the sea by you yourself, my Lady, to be swallowed up in the foam. You are safe. The others are safe.”
Safe, she thinks, and though the words ring true within her heart, still the fear remains, slicking her coat with sweat and prickling her legs with the urge to run.
Schmendrick presses his brow to her cheek, muttering a string of words too soft for her to hear. A cooling wave of magic rushes over her, sweet as a kiss, and her shivering finally subsides. The discomfiting sensation of fear-sweat remains, however, and it angers her, that any measure of the Bull should hold sway over her still.
“Come with me,” she says, half command and half plea.
Schmendrick doesn’t seem to care which, merely extends his hand to the forest beyond and bows in gentlemanly grandeur. “Lead the way, my Lady.”
He remains by her side as she leads him through the forest, his cloak brushing her flank and his hands moving, always moving, tossing a string of acorns into the air and laughing as an ambitious squirrel attempts to steal them away.
Her turmoil eases in the wake of his good humor, his laughter a steadying balm that soothes her troubled thoughts. She breaks into a trot, eager to rid herself of the tacky sweat clinging to her coat, the last vestiges of her terrible nightmare, and her heart lifts as Schmendrick calls playfully after her and gives chase.
The memory of the Bull’s fetid breath dissolves in the wake of the magician’s soft footfalls, King’s Haggard’s horrid laughter banished from her thoughts by Schmendrick’s breathless glee. The pool will take care of the rest.
It lies in a wreath of moonlight, nestled in the heart of her forest, and the moment her hooves sluice through the cool, clear water, the last shreds of her dream drift from her coat like wisps of smoke.
“It’s beautiful here,” Schmendrick remarks, gazing curiously into the depths of the pool. The moonlight gleams on its surface, lending a soft glow to the wizard’s face, and the unicorn finds herself arrested at the sight. He is a lovely thing, her magician, and dear to her heart in a way that no human has ever been before.
She dips her head, her mane a silver-wet tumble across the surface of the pool. “Join me,” she urges, and is content beyond measure in the soft, welcoming slant of his lips.
“Of course, my Lady,” he murmurs, slipping free of his robe and allowing it to pool on the forest floor. She watches in silent amusement as he struggles free of the rest of his clothing, and eases closer as he steps into the pool.
He shivers at the chill of the water, goosebumps rising on his skin, but she tucks his lanky frame against her side, sharing her warmth, and his shudders ease.
“You truly are a wonder, my Lady,” he tells her softly, lifting his hand to splay long, slender fingers against her neck.
A skittishness overcomes her at his words; she feels like a deerling beneath the weight of his compliments, shy in a way a unicorn rarely is, but it is not an unpleasant sensation.
“Are you well?” Schmendrick asks her, easing his hand down the long line of her neck. There is concern in his eyes, and a deep, pressing need to soothe her, should she need it.
“You need not worry, good magician,” she tells him, closing her eyes and reveling in the sweetness of his caress. “My dreams will not trouble me, so long as this joy remains.”
“The joy of my company?” he jokes, and she knickers softly, allowing her head to slip onto his shoulder and tuck against his throat.
“Precisely that,” she murmurs, and his nervous gulp is as sweet as his hands, clumsily wrapping around her neck.
The water laps gently at their sides, the forest calm and quiet around them. Her heart soaks in the stillness, the coolness of the pool and the warmth of her magician, and she is eased, wholly and completely. The Bull cannot touch her here.
Schmendrick will make certain of that.