Wizard's Last Battle

I hope I haven’t been hasty in waking you, Teresa said, her voice conveying her growing dismay at the tension between dragon and wizard.

"I’m certain your decision was a wise one, Teresa," he assured her, using the staff to help him to his feet. "You are not a flighty or overly emotional creature."

A low growl issued forth from the dragon’s neck.

Sulach grunted, glaring at the annoying creature. "Oh, stop acting so abused, will you? I’m no mood to tolerate your tantrums."

The emerald green eyes narrowed, the only outward sign of the dragon’s growing ire. Sulach ignored the subtle warning. Very carefully he pressed his feet into the hard-soled slippers next to where the staff had been leaning. "Are you still in the west pasture, Teresa?"

Yes. But I can meet you at the well, she offered.

"That will do just fine. Give me a few minutes, though, my dear," he instructed her, straightening his spine despite the agony. He shuffled across the room, retrieved his cloak from the peg near the doorway, and wrapped it around his shoulders, tying it at the collar to keep it firmly in place. Once he had thought the red, gold-trimmed garment to be dashing. Now he simply hoped it was warm enough to ward off the chill of the autumn evening.

Opening the warped, wooden door he was greeted by a blast of savage wind. His white hair was pushed away from his face. His cloak billowed around him, his inner robe pressing against frail legs and chest. The gust took his breath away, startling him with its coolness. Winter was fast approaching. Snow would soon drift in front of his door and pile along the sills.

Something does not feel right, Teresa whispered in his mind. Her desire to bolt could be felt in her words. Yet, she moved steadily closer to the well in the center of the cleaning outside Sulach’s cottage. The strength of her will was sorely tested to move forward when her every instinct instructed her to flee.

Curious to find the unicorn so frightened, Sulach stepped out into the descending night. Faint traces of the fading sunlight raced along the treetops, casting long shadows across the ground. Within minutes there would be no light to see by for the amassing storm clouds effectively hid the moon and stars from sight.

Where had the storm come from? Certainly there had been no hint of it earlier in the day. Joints that typically announced damp weather had not heralded the coming downpour. The sky had been unblemished, nary a cloud to be seen in any direction, when he had decided it was time for his afternoon repose. Yet, by the looks of the mountainous black clouds, it must have taken them at least a day to grow to such heights.

"When did the storm appear?" He asked Teresa, suddenly assailed by the unicorn’s uneasiness. Turning his back on the disturbing sight, he hurried as fast his old bones would allow.

Nearing the stone and mortar well, he saw the unicorn jump the fence. Her white coat and golden horn shone faintly in the thickening darkness. It was a pleasure to watch the horned horse in movement and, despite the growing apprehension in his stomach, he found himself entranced by her natural beauty and grace.

Her continued presence amid the royal family’s horses was unprecedented. Normally a shy, solitary creature, her self-imposed imprisonment behind the pasture fences baffled him. Whenever he broached the subject, searching for the explanation he knew was somewhere behind the soft black eyes, she deftly redirected his attention to something closer at hand. He could not name the times she had encouraged him to ramble on about this spell or that herb, effectively distracting him from his quest.