Unicorn

Dew beaded on the horn before the unicorn moved. The wood held its breath. A pale coat, one point of light, hooves that left the moss unbroken. People who found the print spoke softer afterward, as if a unicorn gift had already been placed in their hands and would not be given back. The hush returns when unicorn playing cards lie face down and no one wants the first turn, when a unicorn notebook stays open on a page too clean to spoil, when a unicorn postcard of that horn arrives and the room goes still. The print fills with water. The quiet does not.