andhiswife | (Reply)

It had never occurred to her that mortality was something you could feel, but then, why would it? Fish probably don't feel wet, either. It isn't something Biffy's ever brought up, and he's the only other technically immortal person she knows.

"I'm sorry," she says, knowing what a feeble offering that is in the face of what the poor unicorn must be feeling, but compelled to say it nevertheless.

She might not be a Witch, but she can still feel that subtle shift from Woods back to woods. Of course no unicorn could set hoof here. She stops, half-braced for a horrible twisting and cracking of bones, but what she gets is a faint glow, instead, like moonlight reflecting off of a pond. That does seem more fitting. It still startles a little hoot out of her, though. And she means to keep a polite distance, truly she does, but when the unicorn -- now a girl -- falls to her knees, she can't help but start towards her. She hovers awkwardly for a moment, the urge to cover the girl with something, anything, even her own body, warring with the lingering insistence that she has no business touching her.

The implicit request comes as a relief. "Yes, I--of course," she stammers, stumbling over to the rock and recovering the pack that's been tucked away there. She sets it by the unicorn-girl's side, her eyes deliberately averted. But she can't miss the girl-unicorn lifting her head out of the corner of her eye, and she can't not meet that uncanny gaze, and she finds herself dropping to her own knees, pressing her palm against that smooth, human cheek, astonished and dismayed.

"Oh, you poor thing," she breathes, unthinkingly pulling her into a hug.