A lone unicorn on a dark roadway meets a kelpie who is far too tempting to resist. When Miracle follows him to his swamp, will she meet her fate, or rise above her own failings?

Today’s story is “Lead a Unicorn to Water” by Frances Pauli , author of the Serpentia Series and Hybrid Nation books from Goal Publications. You can find more of her stories on her website at: francespauli.com.

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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog. I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

and Today’s story is

“Lead a Unicorn to Water”

by Frances Pauli http://francespauli.com ,

author of the Serpentia Series

and Hybrid Nation books From Goal Publications https://goalpublications.com/search.php?search_query=frances%20pauli.

You can find more of her stories

on her website at: http://francespauli.com. Please enjoy “Lead a Unicorn to Water”

by Frances Pauli

She didn’t believe in kelpies.

Miracle placed her hooves gently against the loose gravel, felt

her way along the rapidly darkening path,

and reminded herself that bloodthirsty,

undying equines didn’t exist.

The sky flirted with nighttime,

spotted by a few early stars and tufts of charcoal clouds

lit by a thin crescent moon.

She’d stayed too long at Tiara’s party.

She’d enjoyed too much honey punch

and thin apple crisp biscuits.

Now the wind whistled

like a wild stallion,

the clouds tumbled across the moon,

and the path which would lead her home

turned to slate and shadow.

The terrain Miracle knew by heart

became a stranger.

An owl screeched.

Miracle tossed her head and snorted back at it.

Her silky forelock fell across her eyes,

effectively blinding her.

Inside her broad chest,

her heart jolted.

She slashed her long tail across the path,

stiffened all four legs,

and blew a long, panicked whinny.

It lasted only a second,

a breath of darkness

before she tossed the silver hairs aside again,

but as her vision cleared,

Miracle caught a shadow moving across the path ahead.

She swallowed another whinny unvoiced.

Trembling, she reminded herself that kelpies did not exist,

that she never should have agreed to Tiara’s suggestion to tell each other ghost stories.

They only come out at night,

and they can smell your fear.

She glared at the place where the shape had been.

Only foals trembled before shadows,

and she was not a filly any longer.

Even if she still lived with her dam and sire.

Even if she still stuffed her belly with apple biscuits until her sides ached.

Even if ghost stories

still gave her nightmares.

“I don’t believe in kelpies.”

She said it proudly

and took a confident step forward.

“How sensible of you.”

A voice like deep water

spoke from the roadside.

The words landed like hoofbeats, sharp and echoing,

and each note made Miracle’s thin skin twitch.

“Who’s there?” She meant to sound proud and confident,

but the question trembled. “What do you want?” “It’s a fine night.”

The voice turned silky, cloying.

“For a trot in the moonlight.

As for who I am, I think you’ve already guessed that.”

Miracle flared her nostrils and flattened her ears against her neck.

From the side of the road,

an inky form separated itself

from the brush and shadows.

Hoofs rang out against the gravel,

as if each step were pressed as sharply as possible.

The wind carried a scent to her,

the rich smell of reeds and algae,

of still water and the green things that choked its banks.

Kelpies live in lakes and ponds.

They spend all day lurking beneath the surface.

Miracle tensed her haunches,

flexed, and prepared to spin and gallop.

When night falls, they roam the forests and roadways,

looking for unsuspecting victims.

She stared at the black horse

and heard Tiara’s words,

the spooky, overly dramatic tone

as the tale of kelpies unfolded

and the partygoers huddled closer and closer.

He was blacker than the night sky,

so dark the moonlight seemed to touch his smooth hide

and shrink away. His neck arched sharply above his withers.

He had a short, muscular back

and haunches built for speed

and sharp movement.

Each of his long legs ended in a glossy black hoof,

and his mane and tail were made of fine black hairs that were the only part of him

that seemed to catch the light.

When his head turned in her direction,

Miracle found herself staring into eyes that glowed as red as blood.

Kelpies are beautiful.

So lovely it hurts to look at them.

“He’s not that pretty,”

Miracle told herself,

unaware she spoke aloud until the kelpie’s head jerked up

and his ears fell flat to the sides.

“Look who’s talking,”

he said, snorting and stamping with one foreleg.

Something about the gesture made him less threatening.

His vanity or else his vulnerability

gave her the courage to stand her ground.

Miracle relaxed her hind end

and lifted her nose to the air,

matching him pose for pose.

“I only meant that you don’t seem very terrifying,” she lied.

Inside her wide chest,

her heart beat a frantic rhythm.

“Don’t I?” There was too much amusement in that,

a hint that her fear was more obvious than she’d hoped.

“You are a kelpie.”

Miracle said. “And you’re a unicorn.”

His long face tilted,

and those red eyes drank her in,

dragging his gaze from the tip of her spiral horn

to the place where her tail dragged the ground.

“Yes, I am,” she said.

“I don’t believe in unicorns.”

Miracle snorted. She shook herself,

letting the gesture travel in a wave from her neck to her rump.

“Everyone believes in unicorns,” she said.

“Unicorns are everywhere.”

“Not everywhere.” The kelpie shook his head,

making his long forelock dance.

“I’ve never met one.”

“That’s not possible,”

Miracle said. “There are lots of us in…

Well, I guess we don’t go out a lot at night.”

“Very good.” The kelpie’s ears lifted,

aimed toward her in a gesture that would have been friendly on another unicorn.

“Yet here you are,

at night, alone on a very poorly traveled path.”

“I. I was going home.”

Miracle’s confidence ebbed.

There was nothing threatening in this strange equine’s

posture or behavior,

aside from his appearing unexpectedly from the side of the road,

but his voice had shifted again,

and the new tone made her fur prickle and stand on end.

“There was a party.”

“Was there?” Again, he sounded amused,

as if she’d told a joke that she wasn’t aware of.

“I wasn’t invited.”

Miracle cringed, lowering her head and shifting from hoof to hoof.

“I’m sure they… I mean if…

But nobody really knows about…”

“Relax,” the kelpie said.

“It was a joke.” “Oh.”

Miracle felt the insides of her ears warming.

She’d overreacted.

Yet there was something in his voice that only rang partly true.

“I wouldn’t have come anyway,”

he said. “What’s your name?”

Miracle asked. The kelpie tilted its head sharply

and stared at her with red eyes.

“I’m Miracle.” She held still,

pretended her hooves had roots

to keep from spinning and running from him.

“Courage,” he said. It took her a moment.

“Is that your name?”

He nodded, and his mane danced.

“You’re pretty brave for a unicorn, staying here this long.”

“What do you mean?”

Miracle tightened her grip upon the earth.

Courage stepped toward her.

His ears were forward,

but his eyes glowed, reminding her

he was not an ordinary equine,

not a friendly stranger out for a moonlit stroll.

His voice lowered,

and he walked a half circle around her,

brought his inky body so close that she could feel his proximity.

When he snorted, warm air swirled against her shoulder.

“How much braver can you be?”

he whispered it. “W-What do you mean?”

Miracle focused on not running,

on looking just as brave

as he believed her to be.

“Care to go for a trot?”

He put a dare in it,

a challenge that shoved her fear to one side.

“Or do all unicorns shy away from shadows?”

It would be foolish, unbelievably stupid to accept that dare.

Miracle lifted her muzzle and stared into his glowing red eyes. …looking

for unsuspecting victims.

Even if he’d been an ordinary stallion, she knew better than to follow him into the woods.

She knew better, but he really was that pretty.

Miracle nodded, tossed her head,

and lifted her tail in a defiant banner.

She stared back at the kelpie,

and she put as much bravery as she could muster into her words.

“I’m not afraid of shadows.” ***

They trotted between the trees.

The forest opened up

once they’d left the path behind,

and there was plenty of room for two equine

bodies to pass beneath the branches.

The trunks grew wide enough apart to make the going easy,

and moonlight filtered through the leaves in a splashy pattern

that turned them both into dapples.

Miracle let the chill air sooth her fears.

She let Courage lead the way,

and she kept her head high,

her ears forward,

and her eyes sharp.

He flashed ahead of her,

inky darkness peppered with pale splotches.

Only her fears had turned him devilish in the road.

Now, in his terrain beneath the trees,

Miracle saw how agile he was,

how much grace lay in that dark form,

and how each hoof

was placed precisely,

avoiding stone and twig

so that he became a soundless movement in the night.

She did her best to mimic him,

but every couple of paces

she would crack a twig or skitter over a loose stone.

Each sound announced her clumsiness,

yet Courage never flinched,

never so much as twitched an ear to embarrass her.

He leaped a fallen log,

landing soundlessly,

and when Miracle crashed after him,

flicked his tail merrily

and broke into a silent canter.

The trees streaked by.

Branches reached for them,

but so long as she kept to the kelpie’s hoofprints, she went easily,

without snare or bramble.

Birds spooked as the equines passed below them.

The night filled with startled hooting.

A wild sense gripped Miracle’s heart,

and she kicked up her feet and whinnied in answer.

The forest belonged to them,

and all creeping and flying things skittered aside to let them pass.

She was almost disappointed when Courage slowed to a trot,

when he stilled his hooves

and drew up in a wide clearing.

If he’d made a less beautiful picture,

standing proudly,

body drinking in the moonlight,

she might have cantered past, taken the lead for herself.

Instead, she slid to a halt,

tearing trenches in the mossy ground.

“Are you tired?” She tossed her head

and blew a long exhale through her nostrils.

“No.” He stamped and blew an answering snort.

“I just thought it would be easier to talk if we walked.”

“Oh.” Miracle felt her ears warming again,

but this time she was not embarrassed.

“Sure. What should we talk about?”

“I don’t know.” Courage swished his tail

and began to walk again.

This time, she moved alongside him.

“I don’t talk to other equines

very often,” he said.

“What about your family?”

Miracle focused on placing her hooves softly,

on matching him step for step.

They traveled into the wood again,

only now the ground was soft and damp.

There were ferns beneath the trees,

and they left a trail of perfect hoofprints in their wake.

“Don’t you talk with your parents or… siblings?”

“Most kelpies live by themselves,”

he said. “You live alone?”

Miracle tilted her head

so that she could look at him and the ground at the same time.

He was older than her, surely,

but not that much older.

“Isn’t that…” She’d been going to say “scary” but remembered that she was supposed to be a brave unicorn.

She didn’t want to sound like a filly.

She wanted Courage to think highly of her.

“It would be harder to hunt,”

Courage continued,

as if she hadn’t just stopped mid-sentence.

“If there were a lot of kelpies in one place.”

“Hunt.” Miracle let that word settle over her.

Unicorns definitely didn’t hunt,

and though she’d decided to be brave,

though she wanted very much to believe Courage was not a threat,

her heart still fluttered in her chest at the thought of it.

“We’re safer that way, too,”

he added, either not noticing her reaction or choosing to ignore it.

“You can imagine how your friends would react, if there was a whole herd of kelpies in these woods.”

Miracle nodded and tried to picture it.

Had Tiara’s story been purely fancy,

or had the other unicorn seen Courage too?

If even one of their parents knew about the kelpie,

the whole herd would panic.

Even if he wasn’t a mean kelpie.

Even if he was… “Where are we?”

Miracle flared her nostrils and drank in the scent of swampy water.

They’d broken from the trees while they walked,

and a curving bank lay before them.

Tall reeds bent in the night breeze.

The ferns lapped against the edge of the water,

and the pond lay deep,

still, and jet black beneath the moon.

That orb was reflected perfectly in its surface,

making the world seem suddenly

upside down. Kelpies lead their victims to water.

“I live here,” Courage said.

They lull them into a trance.

“It is kind of lonely,”

he said. And then they drown and devour them.

Courage moved at her side,

very near her side.

His neck arched, and his red eyes stared into hers.

His voice crooned softly, but Miracle didn’t hear the words any longer.

She saw only the pointed teeth,

just visible between his velvet lips.

She saw the pond, and the moon, and the dark forest in all directions.

He leaned closer,

breathed out, and sent a blast of hot breath along her neck.

Miracle flinched.

She shied away, smashing the ferns beneath her hooves,

and let loose a terrified whinny.

“Don’t eat me!” Trembling, stiff,

and certain she was about to die, Miracle closed her eyes

and wished she’d never stepped foot into the forest.

She wished she’d never taken the gravel path,

wished she’d never gone to Tiara’s party.

A heavy sigh reached her ears.

She opened one eye,

peeked, and found Courage standing farther off.

At least three paces away from her.

His head hung low,

and his red eyes glared at her.

“Maybe not so brave after all,”

he said. “You’re not going to eat me?”

Miracle asked, warm again,

sure she should be the one sulking.

“I was thinking about biting you,” he said.

“But no. No eating. No drowning.”

“Oh.” A creeping feeling itched along her spine.

She wanted to apologize,

but the smell of the swamp,

the echo of Tiara’s story stalled her.

“Do you know how dangerous it is for one of us,”

Courage said. His voice was flat and low, not accusing

but not nearly as enticing as before,

not nearly as friendly.

“To show someone like you

where we live?” “Someone like me.”

She stood taller,

turned to face him

but couldn’t summon an ounce of indignation.

He just looked too sad, too disappointed, and not remotely surprised by her behavior.

“Maye you’re not like the stories say.”

“Maybe?” He snorted,

but at least his head lifted.

His tail swished,

and he looked directly at her again.

“But you do hunt, don’t you?”

Miracle eased one step in his direction.

“Do you eat?” he asked.

“Yes, but…” She stopped short,

sure she was about to say something else offensive.

It wasn’t the same though, really.

She was a unicorn.

She ate fresh, sweet clover.

He was a kelpie, and he ate…

She didn’t know what he ate because she hadn’t bothered to ask. Had she?

“But?” He dragged that out until it hovered in the air between them.

“I’m sorry,” Miracle said.

Courage jerked his head up.

He tilted his head again,

almost back to normal.

“Are you?” “Yes.” She took another step toward him,

tried not to hesitate,

not to show any sign of fear.

“I’m so—” A stallion’s shriek split the night air.

They both threw their heads high,

scenting with nostrils wide, but Miracle knew that voice.

She knew the sound and knew she’d made a terrible error when the next scream was her own name

in her father’s most demanding tone.

“Miracle!” She was in so much trouble.

A huge splash tore her attention away again.

She spun to where Courage had been,

but the bank was empty.

The ferns and the reeds stood guard over a vacant shore,

and only the soft rippling of the water suggested where her kelpie friend had gone.

It was dangerous, he’d said.

And he’d trusted her far more than she’d trusted him.

Miracle spun on her haunches

and leapt away from the pond.

She remembered the hoofprints in the wet earth,

and she knew, if her parents followed her that far,

Courage would be in even more trouble than she was.

With her head high

and her tail flagging,

Miracle sprang back into the woods,

cantering as fast as her hooves would churn,

away from the kelpie’s secret. ***

“No more parties.” Her father stamped his hoof against the path

and glowered at her.

At seventeen hands, he towered over her,

and even though she knew his rage was half bluster

and half fear, Miracle cringed and nodded.

“Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

“I’m sorry,” she whined.

“I just got turned around a little.”

“You should have been home hours ago,”

said her mother, a delicate mare with a far gentler approach to foal-rearing.

“The woods are dangerous after dark.”

Dangerous. Miracle thought of Courage.

She thought of the kelpie,

the moonlit forest,

and the music of their hooves against the ground.

She thought of a dark pond,

and she knew that one of them

had been in far more danger than the other tonight.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated,

but in her heart, she smiled.

They hadn’t found their way deep enough into the trees to see the prints.

She’d caught up with them only a few strides from the gravel path.

“Come home,” her father said. “We can discuss your behavior in the morning.”

“It’s very late,” her mother repeated.

“She should be in bed.”

They headed down the pathway,

silver hooves stepping lightly on moonlit gravel.

Miracle followed behind them.

She hung her head in mock shame,

and she dragged her steps as any filly would after a sound talking to.

In her mind, however,

she saw a pelt that swallowed moonlight.

She wondered if her apology had meant anything.

If she’d ever be brave enough to go back to the pond

and find out. She marched dutifully toward home,

but as the pathway lifted to a crest,

her neck twisted.

Miracle gazed backwards at the woods,

looking for the distant glint of water.

Most kelpies live by themselves.

It was late, and she should be in bed.

But as she trotted after her parents,

Miracle knew she would have kelpie dreams that night,

and for many nights after.

But they would never be nightmares.

This was “Lead a Unicorn to Water”

by Frances Pauli, read for you by Khaki,

your faithful fireside companion.

You can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,

or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

Thank you for listening

to The Voice of Dog.