Day 1: Birth

He awoke and felt the warmth. Unaware of where it came from and knowing only that it was good. Eyes closed, waiting. Small sounds all around. Now a feeling of discomfort, pain where there was none before, hunger. Awareness that something was wrong, not right. Long buried instincts rise, directing movement where only stillness ruled. The smell of sweet grass intensified the pain. Grass?, how had he known the word? Once again instinct prodded and he ate, then slept.

Day 2: Sight

Again the warmth brought wakefulness, and light, and color. Eyes open, hurting, squinting against the bright sunlight. He saw the grass, the sun, the small brook and the rolling meadow. Once again wondering how these words, that defined the things in his existence, came to be, in his mind. He ate, he drank, and he watched as the sun slowly gave way to the cold moon. Counting the bright pinpoints in the sky and wondering why.

Day 3: Exploration

Walking on unsteady legs, wobbly, and unsure, he walked in the meadow - seeing, hearing, and smelling. Almost content. Trees surrounded the glade, large pine and birch. Dense but not un-passable, nonetheless thick. Thoughts came faster with each passing hour. What?, where?, how?, and with ever recurring frequency … Who am I?

Day 4: Identity

Following the stream and his thoughts, he came upon a dark pond of a peculiar mirror-like quality. Chancing to glance, while drinking, he saw himself in the shiny black abyss of the pool, flowing mane, barrel chest, muscular legs, long handsome face, and most surprising of all, a large moon-silver horn emerging from his forehead, centered, and tilting upward. A name rises from buried memories, triggered by the image in the pool, Shorna, and then another name, triggered by the first. A name given by man, what or who man is/was is not known, but the name given was Unicorn.

Day 5: Knowledge

The sun chased the dim silver disk from the sky, and with this dawn came words, names, and knowledge. In a chaotic torrent they came. By nightfall the storm abated and left him exhausted. He ate little and slept much, enjoying the quiet that night's obsidian blanket often brings.

Day 6: Revelation

As day came it brought with it a new understanding of the world, he now knew he was the "Shorna" or unicorn as his kind was called by man. He also knew, that though young, his mind was still developing, his memory, which he realized was racial, that is to say, part of his genetic makeup, was complete and up to and including the present. His kind was old, older than the oldest bipedal race. This was not vanity or pride or anything so silly, it was simply the truth. This knowledge was tempered by one fact. He was the very last of his race. And even though his was to be a long life, it was shadowed by this fact.

Day 7: Contemplation

He thought long and hard about his life that was to be, and wondered why he must be the last. The certainty of it he could not deny. Yet it was a difficult concept to accept. Inside, in his mind, he searched, relived, sifted and crawled through the generations of memory to find why this was so. No answer came. As the stars took their place in the heavens the last knew an emotion new to his kind - despair. On this night the last unicorn cried.

Day 8: Hope

When the sun rose, so did new inspiration. A thought, a way of salvation, hope beyond hope also dawned this day. Now purpose took the place of despair, hope instead of melancholy, work where idleness once reigned. As he worked, softly whistling a tune through his horn, seasons passed, as did years. Long was the last's labor by our counting, but for him decades were as hours.

Day 9: Waning

His time came to a close but the work was not quite complete, he slept little, ate less. It was a close thing, the day was upon him, work done. The Last stood and looked upon the fruits of his endeavor, the pyramid shaped pyre, set in the center of a circle, a circle of stone. He sat and looked, he saw grass, the sun, the small brook, the rolling meadow, and the stones. Large stones, set in a precise circle, some with lintel stones, some without, but all according to plan. He saw all this and was glad, yet sorrow was present in his heart. He made his preparations, pyre surrounded by dry birch, fire started, and the enchantment begun. The Last contemplated the law upon which his long labor was based… "The energy of magic can never be destroyed, only transformed." If this law were somehow false, then all is for naught, he thought to himself. "It must be true" he decided, casting off his remaining doubts and entering the pyre.

Day 1: Rebirth

The Last felt no pain, only warmth, comforting, sleep inducing warmth - sleep consumed him, and fire. When the sun rose again naught was found but ashes. As the first ray of hope fell upon the now gray coals, something in their midst began to coalesce, made of fire and magic the new form had wings, large and golden, a body of silver and gold, and eyes, eyes akin to the fire agate from which they were formed, and could see for miles. He looked and saw the grass, the sun, the small brook, the rolling meadow, and the world. The gold-silver form lifted itself on wings, borne of ashes and much more, and with a great cry of joy took to the sky.


A lone figure stood on the edge of the meadow, a man. With great regret he watched as the graceful equine form entered the pyre. As flames rose and consumed the life within, tears fell from his cheeks. The man sat down, just inside the circle of stones to wait the coming dawn. With the coming of the sun the man saw what few will ever see, the grass, the sun, the small brook, the rolling meadow, the birth of a legend, the birthing of a Phoenix.

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