Lyanna's heart pounded as she stood frozen on the bridge, her hand gripping Lyra's. The unicorns by the crescent lake moved like something out of a dream, their hooves skimming the ground, manes flowing like silk in the breeze.
Gorren slid to a stop beside her, his gruff voice breaking the spell. "My god," he muttered, squinting at the horizon. "There's gotta be a hundred of 'em—maybe more."
Lyanna's breath hitched. She'd spent years trading with the elves, but she'd never laid eyes on a unicorn.
The stories didn't do them justice—pristine white coats gleaming in the sun, horns catching the light like polished ivory.
The sacred lake mirrored their glow, rippling as if it held a piece of the sky. A whole herd of them, at least a hundred, grazed and pranced along the shore.
Lyra yanked at her sleeve, practically bouncing. "Sister, look how pretty they are! Can we get closer? Please?"
