Different. Colors were muted. Nothing had vibrancy. Everything was reduced to dull greens, mud browns, pale grays, and dark reds. Shadows were so stark, sharp boundaries cutting off the light.I ghosted from tree to tree. I made no sound. I knew instinctively how to step to avoid the crunch of dried leaves and the snapping of twigs. I no longer crashed through the brush like an angry boar charging the hunter.I was the hunter.The pure scent of the unicorn. I breathed it in. The scent of gold, white, and myrrh tickled my nose, a clean scent unsullied by the world. A snarl growled from my throat. I gnashed my sharp teeth as I prowled after the trail.The unicorn left faint signs of its passing. The occasional hoof print in soft loam, a silvery hair shed from its mane left shimmering in the tangle of brush, and grasses shorn by hungry teeth. The pure scent grew stronger, my stomach revolting at the innocence.My fingers clenched, eager to sully such purity with blood.But it worried me I had. Fostermarveled at how proper a housewife and how ladylike Dale still was afterall her lessons. She did notice something different about him though,that vacant stare over afternoon tea, that extra little wiggle in herstep when she walked. "Mmmmm, wifely duties," she said giggling toherself with satisfaction as she smiled sipping her tea.The following spring the phone rang, it was the county orphanage. Theywere wondering if in addition to the six or eight boys they were sendingif they couldn't send just one more? Mrs. Foster asked what they had inmind. It seemed that they had a 16 year old boy, who they couldn't seemto keep in a foster home. "It's really a touchy subject, a bitembarrassing actually Mrs. Foster" the lady at the other end of thephone said then continued. "It seems that when we place him he doesalright for a while but he always seems to get into the woman's things? You know? They catch him in a dress or some lingerie and such and well,they just don't want a foster.
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