Fleetfoot: Aerial Dancer's Return

One foot...reaching.
Two feet...rushing.
Three feet...racing.
Four feet...rounding.
A crest and the highest peaks,
Now.  Now.  Now.
Before her rise.
The storm clouds thicken.
Icy wind howling.
Across the range...
The drums of war, pounding.
On and on and on...
Fleet feet flying.
Clinging to stone and snowy parapet.

Flinging.  Slinging.
Flying on.
Slush and grit...
Tossed up behind as fleet feet.
Clinging.  Climbing.
Rushing to beat the storm.
A coming torrent of wind and hail.
Blue of granite.  Shining quartzes.  Ubiquitous shale.
Crenellations...out crops...overhangs...gulches.
By them...past them...leaping them all.
Aerial dancer...
Holding tight, cloven feet,
Have never let her fall.
On and on and on.
Fleet feet stretching.
Seeking.  Reaching.

Around the peaks.
Up the vale
Across the rift valleys.
Wail.  Wail.  Wail.
Eastern winds.
A blowing, billowing gale.
Black clouds and bitter snows.
The tears of the forest.
A final farewell should her endeavor fail.
One foot...striking.
Two feet...planting.
Three feet...springing.
Four feet...bounding.
Toss of a mane.
A skittering step...
Up and up and up.
Fleet feet...
Oh how that call is kept.
Dreaming, fathomless eyes.
To the skies are lifted.
No sight of the moon.
The stars...not this night.
With the swirling, blinding snows.
She disappears from sight.
Knowing for her life,
For everything,
This crossing will be a fight.

One foot...slowing.
Two feet...reaching.
Three feet...feeling.
Four feet...leading.
Pebble.  Pinnacle.  Peak.
Gorge and gulley...
Cautiously a foot reaches out.
Snowpack holding.
Here in the heart of winter's harshest cold.
On her heels the gale is pressing.
'Cross the ice she begins to run.
Fleet of feet,
Unicorn's Blessing.
One foot...catching.
Two feet...clinging.
Three feet...bounding.
Four feet...flying.
Touching down and lifting free.
Above the ridgeline...
Farewell fern and straggling tree.
Wind whistling up the river's flow.
Tugging mane and tail...
Veiling ancient, dreaming violet eyes.
Running...bounding...racing...
Over...onward...upward.
Lithe and agile.
Catching the next rise.
Faster...faster...faster.
Deep breathe in.
Thundering heart, soaring hope.

One foot...fleeing.
Two feet...bounding.
Three feet...flying.
Four feet...leaping.
Touch and go.
Drubbing.  Rubbing.
Swallowing distance.
Consuming the ground.
In the face of the storm.
In the face of all.
Running.  Racing.
Heart pounding.
Breath sharp.
Eyes bright.
Feet bounding.
Through the snow.
Through the night.
To wing an owl lifts.
Joins the Last in her flight.
Earth, tremble.
Air, sing.
Water, flow.
Fire, light bring.
Spirits holding strong and proud.
Here in the alpine heights.
Far from the eyes of the hunters,
The covetous crowd...
Alone, always, alone.
Bounding on.

Tireless, relentless.
Always a song,
Spinning in her mind.
Knowing, always knowing,
She is the last of her kind.
Alone with the songs.
With the storm.
The howling fury.
A duty undone.
A heart fettered and enslaved.
Bound to a plane.
A bone never laid in a grave.
Cloven hoof, dancer's stride.
A fond mother's greatest pride.
Now.  Now.  Now.
How those fleet feet fly.
A line of tracks...
Light and fading...

One foot...pressing.
Two feet...feeling.
Three feet...flying.
Four feet...leaping.
Aerial dancer.
Onward.  Onward.
Homeward bound.
Across the summits.
Through the clouds.
Taste the snow.
A hint of salt.
A taint of iron...
No.  No.  No.
How could it be now?
Blood...
She knew the smell.
Knew the taste.
Knew the stain.
Within her chest.
A heart twisted.
Throbbed with pain.
There was something upon the mountain.
Drubbing...rubbing.
Racing ahead.
Whippet thin, aerial dancer.
On and on and on.
Into the bitter, blinding gale,
She rushes, seeking the answer.

Crimson tide rising.
The price of life...
Now mars the white.
Fleetfoot lifts her head.
A silver horn slices,
Shredding, cleaving through the massive gale's might.
Across the stars, unto the moon.
She vents a call...
Echo.  Echo. Echo.
Listen all.
The night is shattered.
Fury rises.
Like the fabled phoenix.
Her cindered courage is reborn,
Amidst the ferocity of the storm.
Cloven stride...
Holding fast, holding true.
Churning...
Setting a raging, burning
Pace across the mountains.
To the pass.
To the wolds.
To see with her own eyes.
To see what the future holds.

A femur, swift and light.
Tumbles down before her sight.
No gold traces the old bone,
But she knows it still.
A memory stirs.
A bitter pill.
A herald, a greyhound,
Who unto her was sent.
A messenger,
A bearer of a lament.
This herald had run.
Fast and far.
Only to fall.
Beneath an arrow.
Its message unheard.
Unheeded.
Dead and cold upon,
That bleak and bloody mountain.

A squeal of rage.
The Unicorn's Lament.
Rushed from her chest.
Heaving...heaving hard.
In the silvered, backlit mist.
She saw the peaks and the vale.
Of the gorge...
The only passage.
To the lands of the White Tower.
Along the rim,
Down the ridges,
Between the stones.
Guarding the mountain's snow bridge,
Was a tide of shadows.
Wraths and shades.
Impervious to the weather.
Blind to the hellish cold.
These were creatures of the deepest dark.
A hunting party of the tides of old.
Demon spawn.
Goblin kin.
Troll child.
Gollum kings...

One foot...pawing.
Two feet...rearing.
Three feet...pressing.
Four feet...surging.
Aerial dancer,
A waltzing rage,
A tide of change.
A time of purging.
Fleet feet flying.
Pounding.  Bounding.
Courage and hope.
Surging.
Down the slope.
Catch the rise.
A blazing silver horn,
Cleaves the dark.
Blinds malevolent eyes.

Nocking arrows.
Creaking bows.
A hum of strings.
Into the whirling gale.
A volley, a hail
Of arrows pours.
Winging.  Zinging.  Singing.
A deadly, blood tainted refrain.
Stars wheeling,
Clouds pressing.
Hooves bounding.
Down...down...down.
On and on and on.
A drop of silver.
A bloody graze.
A squeal of fury.
A rage, a haze...
Eyes blazing.
Heart sounding a cadence,
A rhythm she knows too well.
Once more she weaves her spell.

Air howl.
Water surge.
Earth tremble.
Fire purge.
Spirit heed...Hear me now.
Rearing, screaming,
An ancient fury.
One foot...jabbing.
Two feet...reaching.
Three feet...pressing.
Four feet...fleeing.
Into the fire and hail.
Across the frozen bridge.
Racing for the vale.
Fleet of foot.
A gift of speed.
Pressing.  Calling.
Dire is the need.
Another volley.
A tide of danger.
Pelting, pouring,
Grazing her perfect hide.

On and on and on.
Earth.  Air.  Water.  Fire.
Gone...gone...gone.
Snow shudders and ripples.
Holding tight,
Aerial dancer, cloven stride.
A single stone.
A flurry of snow...
Trickle down...
On and on and on.
Into the darkest heart she must go.
Arrows.  Spears.  Burning darts.
Lecherous greed.  Black magic.
Forbidden arts.
To the darkness the hunters call.
A tide of malice,
Bound to all.
Down...down...down.
To the bridge,
Upon her heels it is pressing.
A baying...
A nightmare's favored pet.
Unleash the hounds of hell.
Arrows have not felled her yet.

Ears swivel, catching the blood chilling sound.
Eyes, dark and shining, cast a look around.
From the ridges.
From beneath the stones.
Shadows emerge.
Baying.  Snarling.  Growling.
Hell Hounds of Goromolith.
A pack, fifty strong.
Unleashed upon her trail.
Aerial dancer,
So much at stake,
Now...now...now.
Dancer's stride cannot fail.
Holding tight.
Holding true.
Silver light cleaves the gloom.
Red eyes burning.
The chasm born spawn of the cursed beasts.
Baying.  Growling.  Howling.
Slaving.  Bearing down.
Four feet...planted in the snow.
Now.  Now.  Now.
Fly.  Go.

Fleet feet fleeing.
Fast and far and hard.
Another stone tumbles.
Beneath fleet, flying feet,
The earth heaves,
Shudders and mumbles.
A tide of evil.
Means unfair, minds of cunning.
They who hunt her.
Seek to halt her running.
Volley upon volley...
Down into the pass....
Into the ice of that treacherous bridge.
A hail of arrows, spears, and burning darts
Were lobbed.
Yet still she raced.
Fleet feet flying ahead of that hell borne mob.
Now.  Now.  Now.
With spurs, whips, and chains...
They follow her down in to the gorge.
A bridge of ice, crystalline blue,
Strong and dangerous,
Such was the passage of the glacier forge.
The surge of the demon horde.
The moonlight glow of the last remaining horn.
Over the edge into the mist.
Into the gale.
Dancer's stride holding...
Aerial dancer flying.
Behind her the mountains shift.
Shivering, shaking,
Snowpack and boulders tumbling...

Cloven stride...
Pounding.  Bounding.
Ground fumbling.
A trickle of pebbles,
A flurry of snow.
Shimmering hide,
Into the mist.
Into the night.
It does go...
Over the bridge.
Rushing...racing...reaching.
For the farthest ridge.
At her back, a covetous raging call.
A horn of a dragon,
Bloodied and dead.
Raised to lips of red.
A call.  A call.  A call.
A furious, resounding hunting cry.
Slaving greed.  Lethal intent.
Upon her trail,
The Hell Hounds, be set.
On and on and on.
She goes...silver horn leading.
Or upon her carcass the hounds will soon be feeding.

A creak.  A crack.  A pop.  A buckle.
Another volley, blind in the night.
Slices deep, slices clean.
Fire.  Fire.
Burning bright.
In the glow of the flaming arrow.
Beneath the hell fire's ominous glow.
She sees a crack.
A fissure in the snow.
The hail of arrows breached the ice pack.
Aerial dancer, swift and light,
On and on and on.
Feeling along.
Running with care.
Behind her rises an unholy noise.
Of Hell Hounds, demon spawn, and trolls' toys.
Ov'r the ridges and off the stones.
Onto the snow bridge, coursing down.
Hell horn ringing.
There was no stilling, slowing down.
The gluttonous pack pressing hard.
A snow pack growing weaker with every passing yard.
Dancer's stride holding tight.
Fleetfoot, she of femurs, swift and light.
'Cross the fading bridge and swelling noise.
Another volley of the trolls' toys.
Zinging passed her flickering ears.
A drop of silver blood.
A single glimmering tear.

The crimson voice of the dragon's horn.
A cry to bring down the Unicorn.
A single, gleaming tear.
A horrid, bloody ringing.
It was the last straw.
It sent the snows....the stones.
Tumbling.  Crumbling... Pounding down.
On fleet foot.
Rushing down.
From the rear,
From the flanks,
It comes that thunderous,
Deadly roaring sound.
A wave, a torrent,
Of snow and ice.
Boulders and pebbles broken free.
Snow rushing down.
Fracturing the bridge.
Churning against the scree.
A wall of white.
A wave of red.
Those of the darkest reaches...
Death comes crashing down upon their heads.
Hell Hounds bay in mortal fear.
Knowing.  Knowing.  Knowing.
Their end is near.
One foot...skidding.
Two feet...plunging.
Three feet...trembling.
Four feet...stumbling.
A scream of terror.
A silenced dragon's horn.
Into the depths of the chasm,
The gorge,
Plunge the hunters of the Unicorn.
A massive gash miles wide.
Scars the mountain.
Turns the tide...
Down.  Down.  Down.
Into the bowels of the world...
They are recalled.
Up above...something moves.
With the avalanche, she did not fall.

One foot...holding.
Two feet...reaching.
Three feet...pressing.
Four feet...leaping.
Out.  Out.  Out.
Of the gale,
The blinding, stinging snow.
Up from the very jaws of death she does go.
One foot...touching.
Two feet...gathered.
Three feet...bound.
Four feet...flying.
Up.  Up.  Up.
From the chasm,
Away from the shadows.
Onto the final peak.
'Cross the last rise...

Whipping, whirling...
A living cloak.
The trailing virga of the storm.
Gently traces a legendary fleeing form.
At her back the blood carnage of the jumbled pass.
A hunt that could have felled the Last.
She who flees.
She who flies.
Now is not her time to die.
Onto the final line of mountains steep.
Valleys wide, verdant and deep.
The storm is fading with the night.
But in the shadows.
A pair eyes watches.
Cunning and bright.
A flare of gold in the stygian depths.
Aerial dancer slows...
Cautious, skittering steps.
Damn...damn...damn.
The dark.
Will this tide of evil ever cease its arc?
She, Fleetfoot, knows.
The hints of gold.
Eyes that glow.
Just as she is the Last of One.
So is he the Last of Two.
A cloven stride, he does possess.
A speed and endurance,
A reason for distress.

A verse of lore.
A legend tense.
Hunted, hated...
Trouble brewing.
Here was another foe.
One swift and cunning.
In the border forests he waited.
It was because of this bihorned beast,
She was hunted.
She was hated.
White and silver and violet.
Gold and black and red.
Unicorn.  Bicorn.
A price upon a head.
A bargain struck.
A devil's deal made.
To Fleetfoot's life it put paid.
The Last of One.
The Last of Two.
Eye to eye.
Slowly...warily, they drew.
From the shadow.
From the snow.
Flowing down through the gorge.
Was the river...
East.  East.  East.
It snaked.
Twisting down.
Deep dreaming eyes found its source.
Watched as it wound.
Down and away into the border wood.
In her path.
The Bicorn stood...

Hide of stygian darkness.
Eyes of the demon bred.
Deep, deep, burning bloody,
Red.
Two horns twisted and grotesque,
Topped a heavy, massive head.
Equine in nature,
With a long and flaring nose.
A draft horse build.
Cloven toes...
In the middle of the final path it stood.
Pawing the ground.
Poised to charge...
This boded no good...
In her path...
In her way...
Fleet feet gathered.
A huff of air.
Staring down.
Bearing down.
No more standing there.

One foot...pawing.
Two feet...rearing.
Three feet...gather.
Four feet...charging.
One horn of silver...shimmering.
Shining...glowing...knowing.
A pure clarion ring.
Of a war borne call.
The Last Horn.
The Unicorn.
Rushes...races...charges.
Aiming for the heart of the Bicorn.
An action, unexpected...
Unseeing and desperate.
Set the stage.
Ignited the fire...
One foot...pressing.
Two feet...clawing.
Three feet...surging.
Four feet...bounding.

Harbinger is the name of the Final Bicorn.
Seduced by shadows.
Lured by the dark.
He followed a path down which few embark.
A tide of pain.
And sea of blood.
Welled and flowed...
This was his legacy.
This was his great and mighty deed.
Destroying those of Cloven Hoof and Dancers' Stride.
Sacorum slew Fleetheart leaving Fleetfoot the Last.
But Harbinger's own cloven feet rested, stood...
Behind the genocide of the Unicorns.
So the Two brought down the One.
One alone..survives.
Two eyes...burning.
Three promises...waiting.
Four feet...charging.
Surging.  Churning.
Flying loam and searing air.
Rippling mane...a mortal scare.
At the Harbinger, she did run.
Pressing her luck.
She, the Final One.

Away.  Away.  Away.
Into the face,
Of death and dark and doom.
Fleet feet went.
Tufted tail waving like a plume.
Cloven stride striking hard.
Dancer's feet holding true.
A blind, reckless courage.
Into the face of the Harbinger,
She did surge.
Eyes bright.
Courage flying.
A battle to the end,
She was going to make.
Horn aimed.  Fleet feet striding.
Power gathered.
At her back, the elements rising.
Strike.  Lift.  Strike.  Lift.
Bounding.  Pounding.
Bearing down.
Upon her head, a horn.
The final, bloody crown.
The Last against the Last.
But it is not the end.
Or the last word and deed.

In the face of a true, unbound courage.
The Bicorn, he, the Harbinger,
Slayer of the Unicorns...
Skittered, flinched...
Stumbled...crumbled.
A fretful step, an unexpected cringe.
Away from the Last Horn.
To the side.
He did shift.
A clear path, now before her lay.
Fleet feet gathering speed.
Rushing...reaching...racing on.
Down.  Down.  Down.
And away,
She goes.
On and on and on.
Her way.

Into the border forest, primordial in age.
Shadows, dense and dark.
Fleet feet...pounding.
Pressing.
Never do they miss their mark.
Ov'r the lichens.
'Cross the loam.
Spring and bound.
Fleet feet flying.
Racing down.
Head now high.
Eyes ahead.
Nostrils flaring.
A war horn's song.
Ringing.  Sounding.  Singing.
In her head and in her heart.
On and on and on.
Fly, fleet feet...
So onward, forward,
Presses a legend, tense.
A piece of breathing, living art.
Into the shadows.
Beneath the boughs.
Evergreens looming.
To the White Tower.
To the Dragon born.
The Lore Blood, she keeps her vow...
Over a pool, deep and still.
Fleet feet pressing..
Faster...faster...faster.
Holding tight to the sloping, steep hill.
A tumbling stone, a snapping branch.
Beneath fleet, flying feet,
No whisper of sound.
The silence of an owl's flight.
Something comes...coursing down.

One foot...twisting.
Two feet...turning.
Three feet...wheeling.
Four feet...pursuing.
Wheeling...chasing.
Pounding...bounding.
Down.  Down.  Down.
And away.
On to the path.
And across the loam.
A massive cloven stride eating the distance.
Aerial dancer, the race is on.
Fleet feet fly.
Harbinger follows.
Chasing now.
A flash of gold and deepest black.
Once again, a hunter.
A hated foe, at her back.
Heels cleans and swiftly flying.
Over the stems and stones.
'Cross the streams, to the bed of the river.
There, beyond that point, safety is laying.
Gathering feet...
A leaping bound.
Aerial dancer, whippet thin.
Stretching, reaching to save your skin.
Gleaming.  Glowing.
Fleet feet knowing.
Every path, pass, track, and trail.
Through the night.
Through the hail.
One foot...leading.
Two feet...gather.
Three feet...leaping.
Four feet...stretching.
No feet...touching.
Into the air.
Down.  Away.  Down.  Away.
Rushing. Rushing.
One foot...touching.
Two feet...reaching.
Three feet...gather.
Four feet...leaping.

Another crash...a glint of red.
Heavy is the price upon her head.
A Harbinger.
A killer bearing down.
Two horns, golden and twisted.
A demon cursed crown.
Pressing hard upon the heels, clean and bright.
Slinging mud and tossing loam.
Scent of blood, closing from the right.
This is a creature of the darkest night.
Far.  Far.  Far.
Fleetfoot, her legend.
With her gift of speed, she did roam.
Now.  Now.  Now.
Upon her knowledge she does call.
Hoping it will spare her a crashing, deadly fall.
Trail.  Stone.  Moss.  Fern.
Raising trees.
Closer.  Tighter.  Higher.  Darker.
To the heavens.
To the skies.
Chasing the sun.
Evergreen.  Evergreen.
Never.  Never.  Never.
Black but ever green.
One foot...reaching.
Two feet...leading.
Three feet...leaping.
Four feet...stretching.
No feet...touching.
Over a fallen, rotting trunk.
Ferns massive.
A beard of moss.
Decaying needles, softened soil.
Tightened confines.
Will it save her, Fleetfoot, from this coil?
A rush of water.
A whisper of a pool, far beyond.
Is it, can it, be too far gone?

Knowing.  Knowing.
In her bone.
In her blood.
In her soul.
In her horn.
Pounding.  Bounding.
Crashing.  Crushing.
Massive, cloven feet rushing.
Pressing close.  Pressing tight.
Upon a glimmering, gleaming hide.
Fleet feet flying.
An impossible leap.
Running.  Racing.
For the sound.
The hidden, forbidden pool.
Up ahead the river courses.
Clear and cold and deep.
Over the rocks and crevasse it does sweep.
Holding tight to the trail.
Skitter and leap.
Dancer's strider in urgent flight.
A golden horn swinging.
Bearing down.
Reaching goring from the right.
A burst of speed.
Virgin hide, no trace of blood.
A swath of air.
A resounding thud.