The Boughs of the Yew Tree

She stood very still, her spine rigid as she listened to the forest around her. She listened hard for any sound at all. When she found none, she returned to searching the forest floor.

She was alone in the small, moonlit clearing. Or, at least, she thought she was.

Her head shot up again – a shiver running down her back. She shook herself vigorously and looked around once more. She was about to give up her search when she saw them.

A pair of glowing red eyes stared, unblinking, at her through the bushes. They seemed to be fixed right on her face. Their eyes met, and she knew immediately that this creature – whatever it may be – was no friend to her.

She turned and bolted from the clearing, not daring to look back. She didn't need to. She could hear it following her – it made some kind of swishing noise as it moved. She threw on another burst of speed, and soon the swishing died away.

She slowed down and eventually came to a stop in another moonlit clearing. Her ears were pricked forward, trying to pick up any strange sounds.

Nothing.

She slowly began to calm down, her flight reflexes loosening up. She scraped the ground and resumed her search.

Suddenly something had grabbed her around the neck. She let out a terrified shriek and began bucking uncontrollably, trying to dislodge her assailant. She ran straight at a large tree and turned at the last moment, letting her side pin her attacker against the trunk.

It was a man. She saw his face beneath the hood and knew – in the space of a moment – who it was.

He let out a strange hissing and spitting sound, and she let out another shriek – this time in pain. He had just opened up a large, deep wound, and she could see her blood running down her body to form a pool on the ground. She wheeled around and sped off, back the way she came. Her blood splashed against trees, and bushes, and even left a trail on the ground behind her.

She ran until she could run no more, and she collapsed among the roots of an enormous, old yew tree. Her breathing was heavy, and her heart was pounding. The rising of the sun did little to calm her, though. As the day passed on, she felt her strength slowly ebb out of her. She was losing.

By nightfall, her white coat had been dyed silver by the pool of her own blood. She took a deep breath, shuddering with the effort, then she closed her eyes, and sighed.

The unicorn was dead.