One thousand steps. That was how long he'd follow his son's tracks before giving up. After that there'd be no time for them to get out of the woods by dawn. The tree cover in the forest made for a black night regardless of how much the moon decided to show of itself. And the risk of being caught by the king's men meant a lantern was more trouble than it was worth. If the boy hadn't lost his grip on the dog's leash, maybe things would be different, but as it stood now, the Hunter could only keep looking and feeling for the imprints of boots and paw prints, and hope that the cold, turning breeze wouldn't hold the smell of blood ahead of him.

The Hunter had lost count of the steps almost half an hour ago. Or, at least, he assumed it was that long.

But presently the breeze seemed to warm itself, and carry the scent of lavender. The Hunter paused. That couldn't be right, the first frost had settled in weeks ago. He moved on, no longer trying to count steps. The boy had to be close, he was old enough to have the sense not to run far. But as the forest began to thin out into a clearing ahead, the Hunter's heart sank as he saw no sign of his son or the dog. He followed the footsteps into the clearing, where the floral smell became stronger and more complex. Giving in to curiosity, he looked up from the ground again and was startled by the finely-dressed woman in front of him, smiling serenely in the moonlight. Her uncovered hair, decorated with flowers, gleamed with a cold, pale shine.

"Lost, good hunter?" She was nearly a foot taller than he was. "Or could it be that you've lost something? You'll need light to see." Before he could stop her, the woman waved her hand, and the sparkle of luminous spores stirred and danced around the treetops, settling at last on a massive horse chestnut tree in the clearing's center. Fibrous webs, almost too small to see, lit up the ground of the clearing and hung in the gold-colored dodder adorning the trees until it was as bright as dawn.

Something is wrong here. The unnatural, unseasonal flowers, the light from nowhere... a creature of Satan, perhaps? And, indeed, the flowers were unnatural. Roses and the lavender he'd smelled earlier bloomed in wild tangles, but so, too, did others. A white, trumpet-shaped flower he'd never seen before grew tall and proud from a spiky-leafed bush at his knees. A strange purple lily with a thick black spadix grew in pairs at the huge tree's base.

"What devilry is this...?" The Hunter took a step back, shaking. He no longer felt cold. The woman laughed gently and took a step forward. Now that he could see her properly, the Hunter noticed she was bedecked in jewelry and had lips as soft and red as the scarlet geraniums that now flowered around his ankles. The heavy, sweet perfume of all the flowers was overwhelming.

"You needn't worry about any devil while you're here, good hunter. Only allow me to look at you a moment... what sparse clothing you have...! That simply shall not do, not when the ground is soon to freeze..." The woman reached her hands forward to take his, but the Hunter pulled away.

"I can clothe myself, fair lady, though I thank you for the concern. Now, I really must be going." But as he fixed his eyes again towards his boy's footprints on the ground, he realized they stopped abruptly a few steps into the clearing.

"But going where? If it's game you seek, a feast can be arranged. Or if it's something else you're tracking..." The woman turned her head and whistled a shrill note through her teeth, and the sound of trotting hoofbeats could be heard in the distance. "Assistance can always be found."

"Have you lost your wits? Poaching in the king's wood will get me hanged, I need no assistance from nobility to find my son-" The woman interrupted him with a laugh so soft and kind the Hunter worried he might fall in love. His heart twisted with fear.

"I'd never think to betray your presence, good hunter, to your king or his men. They'll never find you here. You poor creature... Come out into the light, that you might be seen." The Hunter was about to resist again when the sight of pearlescent, feathered fur gathered around cloven hooves made his arms go slack. His eyes grew wide as he stared at the unicorn being ridden into the clearing by a handsome youth in fine clothes. The woman pulled the Hunter deeper into the clearing. "That boy of yours can be found with ease. But while you wait, you must be changed into something more befitting this place, don't you agree?"

"Changed?" The Hunter grew pale.

"Of course. These ragged things you wear are most improper." The woman's eyes stared with an earnestness that could only feel innocent, and the Hunter laughed with relief.

"Oh...! Yes, I suppose..." He allowed the woman to guide him further into the clearing. He hadn't noticed before how furnished the place was. Just off to the side were a few finely crafted chairs, an armoire, and a full-length mirror, all standing securely on soft, carpet-like grass. Or perhaps it hadn't all been there before. On thinking about it, he was struggling to remember.

"May I have the name of that boy of yours?" The unicorn trotted up, and the boy atop it, not much older than the Hunter's son, looked down at him. The Hunter started and, stammering slightly, gave it to him. "Very good. I'll be off, then." With a nod of acknowledgment, the youth rode off into the dark woods.

"Is that truly all he needs...?" The Hunter asked, his voice faint.

"Of course." The tall woman guided him towards the mirror. He'd never seen one so large and fine as this. And though his reflection in the glass was exquisitely clear, like nothing he'd ever imagined, he had to admit now that he looked exactly as haggard as he felt. Embarrassment welled up in his chest at seeing himself standing next to the beautiful woman who held his shoulders so gently. "I think first things first... we'd better get you out of this." With long and painted nails, she gently undid the buttons on his coat.

"Well, I-" The Hunter's cheeks burned red as he gently tried to stop her. "I can do this myself, though I'd like to know just what I'm meant to wear in its stead." Now that she was so close, it was strange... underneath the sweet smell of the flowers, there was something else, something not quite right. Almost like the scent of decay. It was so faint, the Hunter almost hadn't noticed.

"Only an outfit befitting your place and role, of course. A man like yourself deserves to look as handsome as he can, don't you think? Terribly unfair that you've been deprived the opportunity." Waving a hand, she invited more young women over, all dressed in finery like hers and wearing their hair uncovered and adorned in flowers.

"My Lady Hornbeam, what shall we do with him?" Asked one, curtsying.

"Clean the poor man up, he's to be made more presentable." The young women hurried to work, and despite the Hunter's fast-weakening protests, they took his clothes, his tools, and his bow from him garment by garment, item by item, measuring him as they went, until all he had left was the boots he stood in. Meanwhile, Lady Hornbeam lifted up a pair of scissors made of clear, bright-shining glass. She brought her other hand to the Hunter's beard. "This will certainly have to go. But don't worry, good hunter, I'll be gentle as can be."

"Now, wait a moment-" Squirming uncomfortably in his nakedness and trying not to look at himself in the mirror, the Hunter brought his hands up and tried to push Lady Hornbeam's hand away. The cold glass of the scissors brushed against his cheek right as she cut some of his beard with a snipping noise.

"Ah- careful, now. I'd hate to cut you. Blood paid for with blood, and all that..." Lady Hornbeam released his beard and snapped her fingers. The mirror became a flat black slab of stone before the Hunter's eyes. Only the twisted branches of its gold frame reflected the clearing's unnatural light.

"Could it be you're self-conscious? You don't have to look if you don't want to, until it's done." She wrapped her free arm, with its hand as white as milk and soft as a flower petal, behind his head, leaning her hand and her chin on top. Her breasts pushed against his shoulder. "Dear hunter... is it such a crime to want to see what your face really looks like? You hide from me. Do you not trust in my discretion?" Her fingers stroked his hair.

"I worry that I'll look like a fool," he admitted, not really knowing why.

"And if I could promise you marriage into nobility? How long has it been, since she died?" Lady Hornbeam's voice softened. Her nails gently scratched the Hunter's scalp.

"How do you know about-"

"Would you even understand if I told you? Call it a lucky guess if it soothes your worries."

"...Fourteen years."

"The boy?"

"Yes." The Hunter lowered his arms and let the ladies in waiting continue to measure his proportions. A wet square of linen gently scrubbed the weariness and tension from his body, inch by inch.

"It's been long enough, don't you think?" Lady Hornbeam released the Hunter from her embrace and lifted the scissors to his face again. "Won't you take what I offer you?" For the first time, the Hunter looked into her eyes. They shone like gold.

"Yes... And that lad of yours... he can find my boy?"

"He'll be found before dawn." She smiled and snipped away at his beard again, this time more confidently. "And on that same hour, you'll be ready for your betrothed..." A few more snips, this time closer to the skin. "And you'll never have to fear your king's claim to the forest again." A lady in waiting took the scissors, and a pair of hands the Hunter couldn't see smeared his face with a cool, sweet-smelling ointment. Lady Hornbeam's lips brushed against his ear as another glass blade began to glide up his neck. "Close your eyes, dear hunter, and when you open them again, you'll see finery the likes of which you've never imagined." The Hunter obeyed.

A dozen hands appraised him as he was adorned. And even as the glass razor swiped away the last of the ointment from his face, and various garments of fine soft linen and silk were slipped onto his body, he felt that he'd never be ready to open his eyes. He'd look like a buffoon, or wake up from this strange dream. That must be why I'm not afraid, he thought, as a delicate but strong pair of hands lifted his legs, one at a time, to remove his boots and set his bare feet against the soft grass. A comb moved through his hair, shaping and guiding it in ways he'd never bothered to imagine before. Soft, cool hands even smoothed over his eyebrows, and brushed something onto his eyelids. The weight of a softly-jingling necklace fell upon his shoulders. This can't be real. That must be why I haven't questioned it. After what could have been a few minutes or could have been a hundred years, Lady Hornbeam's voice once again embraced his ears.

Open your eyes, good hunter. See what king and clergy have denied you." The Hunter's eyelids opened slowly, but without hesitation. Looking back at him was a man he could hardly recognize as himself, a man who made him wonder if thirty-two wasn't so old after all. Fine, soft silks in brilliant hues of purple and red wrapped around his shoulders and waist, giving a flattering shape to the loose, gauzy white shirt that felt so delicate against his skin that he feared his own innate roughness could tear it. One of the many thin gold chains that sparkled and shone on his body was around his waist, as well, and dangling from it were a pearl-encrusted knife and spoon carved from rainbow-bearing nacre. But the Hunter was fascinated, most of all, with how different his face seemed. Softness that he'd forgotten he'd ever had radiated from his smooth cheeks, and awestruck innocence he'd long since abandoned re-emerged in his gold-painted eyes. It was with a strange embarrassment that he realized he almost looked pretty. Lady Hornbeam smiled at him and placed a flowering stem of bugloss behind his ear.

"My lady, you truly have an eye for these things! I'd never have guessed-" One of the young women piped up, only to be silenced by a wave of Lady Hornbeam's hand.

"Of course I do. I'd never waste my time on an ugly man..." The Hunter was snapped out of his trance as she started turning him around. To his surprise, directly facing the mirror was a huge and magnificent bed, where before had only been soft grass. Coiling up the posts at the bed's corners were twisting vines of crawling ivy, with long, translucent gossamer curtains between them. "Here's where you can rest for a few moments, and wait. Your betrothed is already on the way." The Hunter almost felt sad as he climbed onto the bed. Guess the dream is going to end now... I'll wake up cold and probably hungry... but at least I'll also find the boy and dog asleep in the bed beside my own... I guess it's alright. The blankets were soft and plush, in a shade of purple he'd only ever seen on flowers. The cold of the forest outside almost felt imaginary as he lay down.

"Forgive me, but from the way you spoke, I assumed you were my betrothed," the Hunter murmured, half-asleep already. Lady Hornbeam laughed.

"Goodness, no. But you'll understand soon enough."

The Hunter was woken what felt like moments later by the sound of rustling leaves and a warm gust of wind. For the first time since the young man on the unicorn had left, he heard a male voice other than his own.

"I commend you, my lady. As always, your commitment to beauty impresses." The Hunter's eyes slowly opened. The shadow of a man as tall as Lady Hornbeam towered over him. The Hunter blinked a few times to allow his eyes to readjust to light, and slowly the tall man came into focus. Piercing yellow-green eyes and thin, dark eyebrows were all he could see of the man's otherwise-covered face, and a fine brimmed hat and cloak obscured the rest of his body.

"You flatter me, Lord Acanthus. I do only what is fitting." As it registered to the Hunter that he truly was awake, adrenaline shot through his system at last and he sprang up in the bed.

"Now, wait just a moment. Lady, just where is my son?" He moved to get up. "You said he'd be found within the hour."

"Be still." Lady Hornbeam's voice hadn't been so cold before. The Hunter froze in place and her face relaxed into a smile again. "I said before dawn, good hunter. But within an hour of your being ready for your betrothed, yes. And my lord, you'd say he's ready now, wouldn't you?" Lord Acanthus removed his hat, revealing softly waving curls of hair, and his gloves.

"Oh, yes. I think a more suitable siárfen could never be found." Dread opened up a pit in the Hunter's stomach.

"What's...?" He had a suspicion that he knew already, but the Hunter couldn't help but ask.

"Only a man who's to be married. Consider it the equivalent to 'bride' in your language, if it helps." Lady Hornbeam's tone was disturbingly casual.

"Y-you don't mean-"

"Mind your words, now." Lord Acanthus took off his cloak. Handsome and clean-shaven, he couldn't have been much older than the Hunter was. Or, at least, he didn't look much older. With a rising sense of fear, the Hunter realized he'd been taking far too much for granted. "In your position, you lack much more to give away." The Hunter's eyes darted to the mirror, where his clothes and things had been taken from him. But there was nothing. Even the ladies-in-waiting who'd taken them were nowhere to be found.

"Perhaps there's been some sort of misunderstanding..." The Hunter suddenly felt very exposed in the thin, diaphanous fabric draped over his body. The thin chains on his body felt heavier than before. "I'm only here because I wanted to find my son, I should be going to look for him." Lady Hornbeam didn't even look at him as she walked over to the mirror.

"Why bother? If he hasn't been found yet, he will be any minute." She turned and laid her hand on top of its golden frame.

"Wh-" Before the Hunter could fully protest, a strong hand gripped the back of his neck. He knew who'd grabbed him. But the instinct to turn and look, nevertheless, persisted as he attempted to face Lord Acanthus. Even so, his strength was no match. He was pushed down onto the bed, face-first.

"The frost hasn't killed the insects yet, my lady. And it is a forest for the Children, isn't it?" Lord Acanthus spoke casually, as if about the weather, as he climbed onto the bed, straddling the Hunter and pinning down his legs. The Hunter's heart pounded in his ears, but over that and over his own frightened, frenzied yelling, muffled by the soft plush blankets of the bed, he heard Lady Hornbeam's voice clear as day.

"It certainly used to be. Perhaps the child will follow the smell of hyacinths on the wind. But I wouldn't worry. After all, the unicorns desire virgin flesh more keenly once the frosts begin... Well. I suppose we'll see." Lord Acanthus placed his free hand at the Hunter's back, where it found one of the many chains adorning his body. A quick but steady pull revealed their placement's purpose as his arms were pinned tightly to his sides.

"Your people give privilege to your lords and kings before wedding nights, don't they? Or is that just a rumor?" The gauzy trousers were roughly pulled down, and the Hunter thrashed against his restraints. "How barbaric. I don't intend to give you to anybody else. But I like knowing what I'm in for, so forgive my impatience." Lord Acanthus' lips, soft and well-shaped, brushed against the Hunter's ear as he pushed him deeper into the bed. "Call me spoiled if you wish."

Searing pain, vicious and sudden, brought tears to the Hunter's eyes and shrank his voice to a whimper. Lord Acanthus sighed in pleasure but said nothing as he pushed his cock inside and began thrusting. But the Hunter squirmed wildly. He had to get out of here, had to escape and save the boy, his poor boy...

The strength left the Hunter's limbs as he realized he no longer remembered his son's name.

What have these people done to me?

The steady driving pain of penetration came again and again, sharp at entry before becoming a deep, cramp-like thud of impact, and though he weakly tried to escape the chains, the realization that it was far too late was beginning to overtake his efforts. He forced his face upwards to try and see around himself. The angle hurt his neck, but it was nothing compared to the rest. Lady Hornbeam still stood by the mirror, watching with a quiet satisfaction. And as their eyes met, her faint smile widened. The Hunter could smell blood and taste bile at the back of his throat. The smell of all the flowers was becoming sickening. In the mirror, the Hunter caught a glimpse of his own lovely, newly-youthful face, of his freshly-scrubbed body being ravished by the huge man who he'd unwittingly been promised. A dribble of some hot liquid, perhaps blood or perhaps precum, dripped down his shaking inner thigh. And it wasn't until he could no longer see himself through the blurring of tears that he even realized they were welling up so heavily in his eyes. "Siárfen..." The equivalent to bride... So this is what it is, to marry into nobility. The pained, bitter laugh in his chest came out as a sob.

"I- hgh... I wonder, my lady, if your promise to this man has been fulfilled yet. I think it might be nice to check, don't you?" Lord Acanthus' thrusting began to speed up as he spoke. And even if he couldn't see it in the mirror, the Hunter could have heard the smile in his voice.

"I absolutely agree. Let's find out, I do hate to fail in my promises..." Lady Hornbeam's hand slid down the side of the mirror's frame, and sparkles of golden light, golden as her eyes, changed the image in the glass, by degrees, to a vision of the dark forest outside. And within moments, the sound of rustling foliage and distant speech could be heard coming from it, too. "The senses of owls are wonderfully sharp, you know. And they're such subtle beasts, when they want to be. But even so..." Lady Hornbeam placed a finger to her lips.

"Your father gave me your name. It's how I was able to find you."

"My father? Is he alright?" The Hunter gasped raggedly with hope and with terror as he recognized the boy's voice. Lord Acanthus' thrusts slowed, but even the agonizing drag of skin on broken skin could not break the Hunter's newfound focus.

"He certainly was when I departed. But for now, climb off with me for a moment, will you..."

"Very well..." The owl's keen eyes spotted the boy and the young nobleman who'd been sent, guiding the unicorn with a hand on its neck. The tiny clearing they entered was featureless but for a small ring of white stones. "I wanted to find my dog too, but thank you for helping me."

"Well, perhaps he'll come home by himself." The young gentleman patted the boy on the back. His silent grin and bright eyes shone out of the mirror, as if he knew he was being watched, and with a single hand he shoved the boy into the ring of stones, where vines immediately bound his legs to the ground.

"No... No!!" The Hunter's stifled and exhausted breath only allowed his voice to rise faintly above a terrified whimper. Lord Acanthus placed a rough hand on the back of his neck and leaned down again, speeding his thrusts up again.

"Quiet, now. Have you heard the voice of a unicorn before, beloved? They're normally so quiet..." His voice took on a rougher, breathier quality as his hips slammed harder against the Hunter's ass. "But they're such passionate creatures, where it counts. In fact, I believe it's the only time they make a sound."

And over his son's screams, the young nobleman's laughter, and his own frantic protestations, over the sound of Lord Acanthus's rough groan as he reached orgasm and came inside of him, the Hunter learned that unicorns did not sound like horses at all.