A Land of Shrouded Mist

The Hunt

Kvethe clutched the broom in her hand and swung open the palm-wood-door of the unicorn stables, bracing herself for the stench.

Tarkin, the foal, gave a short whinny as she entered.

'Good boy,' she murmured. 'Good boy...' she repeated, reaching out to stroke his nose.

Tarkin nuzzled her hand, and her lips tweaked up in a smile. She'd always had a way with animals.

She drew away and began to sweep up the matted hay and dung. Mucking out the stables was bearable, she told herself. At least Tarkin's presence made it more enjoyable.

Life on the island was simple, but Kvethe was happy. She was only a youngling – fourteen summers old – but jobs filled her daily life. Jobs like mucking, feeding the dragons and brushing down the pegasi that all trained her for the Tidecoming – the ceremony that would decide her future.

At the Tidecoming, there would be feasting, laughter and dancing. More importantly, the Elders would initiate her as a Rider, Warrior, Hunter or Keeper.

That time was not far off. In fact, Kvethe thought as she cleared away the last of Tarkin's soiled hay, it's next moon. A thrill of excitement rushed through her veins like a mountain stream after rain.

'Are you finished mucking?' Loran, the Chief Keeper of the unicorn stables, asked as she passed by Kvethe's stable.

'Yes, Xa'loran,' Kvethe replied, addressing her with the honorific prefix that youngsters used to refer to their superiors. 'Do you think that I could brush down Mustarin again?' she added hopefully.

Mustarin was the biggest pegasus in the stables, with wings like stormclouds and eyes as deep as caverns. Naturally, she belonged to Chief Simah, who ruled over the Land of Shrouded Mist.

Loran thought for a moment. 'Very well, but mind you steer clear of her hooves,' she warned, for Mustarin was quite feisty at times.

Kvethe inclined her head. 'Of course.'

With that, she slipped out of Tarkin's stable, heading down the row towards Mustarin. She felt her heart thrum in her chest as she turned towards the great white creature.

'Mustarin,' she greeted, dipping her head. Pegasi didn't speak in Kvethe's native tongue, but they could understand words.

Mustarin's tail flicked in response, and Kvethe smiled as she unlatched a bracken-woven brush from the roof. She opened the door and walked inside slowly and deliberately, knowing that the pegasus could hurt her if she made a sudden move.

Kvethe's brush began to glide over the frost-white coat before trailing down to the mane and tail, which flowed like water through her hands. Once she was finished, Kvethe offered Mustarin a carrot that she'd stored in her grass-woven neck pouch, and the beast accepted. Her golden eyes glittered a thank you.

As Kvethe walked away from the stables, she turned down her usual route: through the palm grove, across Half-Moon Shore, and to the feasting area, where she would eat her first meal of the day.

The wyverns were especially vocal in the trees as she sat down in the dining circle – made up of grass cushions, each with a sculpted wooden bowl placed in front. In the centre was a crackling bonfire roasting tubers and wild boar wrapped in palm leaves; the tantalising scent made her stomach growl.

Chief Simah sat at the opposite side of the circle, on a slightly larger cushion than everybody else. She waited until all the people of the Land of Shrouded Mist had taken their seats, before she began to speak.

'We thank the land-spirits for giving us food to eat. Let us take our food with respect,' she recited, before inclining her head as a signal for everybody to take their food.