One of the old stallions broke his leg and had to be put down, because there was no better way to ease his suffering. The horns of unicorns had no healing power after all. There was meat on the table that night for the first time in months, and this time, to honor the unicorn’s sacrifice, Regan ate with the rest of them. It was sweet and tender on her tongue, surprisingly so, and Pansy laughed at the expression on her face.
“You thought we raised these things for their charming personalities?” she asked. “They give good milk and they make decent cheese, but they do their best work on the dinner table.”
Regan, red-faced, ducked her chin and didn’t answer.
Time kept passing. They moved to another pasture; the mares who had belonged to the old stallion for the longest stopped looking for him, and settled to focusing on the latest crop of foals, who were growing up fast. Regan continued to study under Daisy, learning which herbs could ease a pain or break a fever, and which mushrooms could be pressed for good medicine, and which ones would kill in a mouthful. She still spent most of her time with Chicory, the two sinking deep into the sort of friendship that only ever seems to come for young things.
Regan grew taller, arms and legs lengthening as if they were trying to catch up with Chicory herself. She dropped from a tree onto Chicory’s back while the adults were rounding up the flock, and Chicory laughed as she broke into a gallop, the two girls forming one body as she raced across the meadow. Prior to that, when they moved from place to place, Regan had ridden either Pansy or Daisy. After that, she rode Chicory almost exclusively, and the two of them took to sleeping in a tangled heap of limbs and hair and noisy sighs. The adults all agreed, without a word exchanged, that if Regan’s act of human heroism was to give comfort and friendship to one lonely centaur girl, they would consider her efforts to have been well spent.
And then, in what felt like the blinking of an eye or the rising of a single sun, it was time for the Fair.
Chicory and Regan were ordered down to the pond, which had been verified clear of either kelpies or large snapping turtles, to scrub themselves until they shined. When they returned from their ablutions, dripping, they were met by Aster and Daisy, who ordered them to sit in the corner of the longhouse and stay as clean as possible. The rest of the herd was already absorbed in rounding up the unicorns, chasing them into a temporary paddock and guiding them down the path toward the distant promise of the Fair.
“Both of you will behave today,” said Aster, in a tone which left no room for argument. “You will obey your elders. Chicory, you will stay with Regan at all times, and if anyone attempts to touch her, you will stop them.”
“Even if they’re my elder?” asked Chicory nervously.
“Even then,” said Aster. She turned her gaze on Regan. “We won’t deny you the Fair, any more than we’d force you to go and see the Queen before you must. You have every right to see and experience and enjoy the world you’re going to be asked to save. See its wonders. Taste its bounty. But understand that there may be some there who think you deserve better than a roving herd of unicorn farmers, and want you to go with them. Some may not want to take ‘no’ for an answer. You’ll need to be alert and aware of your surroundings at all times.”
Regan blinked slowly. “Won’t you be there?” she asked.
“No. I’ll be with Chicory’s father, my husband, and the others intend to go courting. There may be foals or marriages from this Fair, which is just more reason we must go, even with you in our custody. Do you understand?”
Regan, who still had only the vaguest understanding of how the centaurs arranged themselves socially, and who had yet to see a male centaur, nodded anyway. It was the sort of question adults expected to have answered in the affirmative, and asking questions wouldn’t help anything.
Aster looked relieved. “Good. I’m glad.” She trotted over to Chicory, gripping the sides of her daughter’s head. “You are a worthy daughter, and more than suited to being companion to a human. You’ll do me proud at the Fair, and your father will praise your name.” She planted a kiss on Chicory’s forehead.
“Ew, Mom.” Chicory wiped the kiss away with one hand. “We’ll behave ourselves. We’re not babies.”
“Regan is, though, where the Fair is concerned.”
Regan frowned. “I’ve exhibited at the State Fair before,” she said. “This can’t be that different.”
“I don’t know what a State Fair is, but I’d wager it’s very different from the Fair,” said Aster. “Come along. The others will be almost there.” She trotted out of the longhouse. Chicory and Regan exchanged a look, before Regan shrugged and boosted herself onto Chicory’s back, settling easily. Chicory trotted after her mother, breaking into a canter once they were safely outside, and there was room to run.
On an ordinary day, room to run and no chores to do would have led to Chicory racing away across the fields while Regan held on for dearest life, the centaur’s hair slapping the human repeatedly in the face, both of them laughing with delight at the simple joy of being alive, and young, and together in a world that was better when not experienced in isolation. Anything with enough brain to know itself as an individual will reach out to others, looking for companionship, looking for other eyes with which to see the world. Regan had never really been lonely—Laurel had always been there to provide companionship, if not true support—but she had still been alone. In Chicory, she had finally found a friend who liked her for who she was, not for how well she fit an arbitrary list of attributes and ideals. Chicory, on the other hand, had been lonely, growing up surrounded only by adults, with no one her own age to share her questions and concerns, or who was experiencing the world at the same rate she was. Together, they were perfect. It was no surprise to anyone who saw them for more than a few seconds that they were inseparable.
None of the adults had waited, not even Aster, although the dust from her passage hung in the air, marking the direction she had gone. Regan tightened her grip on Chicory’s shoulders, anticipating what would happen next. Chicory broke into a gallop, hooves chewing up distance like a unicorn chewed its cud, and Regan whooped, delighted. Chicory wasn’t as fast as she’d be when she was grown, but she was faster than any human, and sitting astride her back sometimes felt like the next best thing to flying.
Despite their head start, the rest of the herd was no match for an excited preteen afraid of missing out on the most exciting event of the season. Chicory caught up to them in short order, slowing to prevent her hoofbeats from frightening the unicorns, who were already uneasy after being curried, scrubbed, and rounded up for the long walk away from their familiar fields. The road to the Fair was hard-pressed dirt, worn smooth by generations of marching hooves, long and gently winding.
Chicory passed her mother and the others, trotting up to the front of the group and falling into an easy canter next to Pansy, who looked over and smiled indulgently at the two girls.
“Don’t you look fine today?” she asked. “Any special occasion?”
“The Fair,” said Chicory, indignant as only an almost-teen being teased by an adult can manage. “I’m going to get baked apples and share them with Regan.”