Buck was beginning to harbor some unpleasant suspicions about the real source of that instinct, but there was no time to think about that now. With a growl of irritation, he let that not-so-mysterious sixth sense guide his feet. The kid couldn’t have gottenthatfar, could he?
Apparently he could. Either Ignatius had been determined to spy on Honey, or—more likely—he had gotten thoroughly lost. His trail wandered through the forest, heading vaguely up the mountain, getting further and further away from any form of civilization.
He was well beyond the borders of the camp now. Buck drew up short as he realized exactlyhowfar beyond. He knew most of Thunder Mountain like the back of his hand, but there were places even he didn’t go.
At least, not without invitation.
“Shit,” he muttered.
He was tempted to keep following Ignatius’s trail anyway, but that was asking for trouble. Relations between the camp and its nearest neighbor had been strained in recent years. Bad enough that Ignatius had trampled across that invisible boundary without compounding the offense.
Buck stuck two fingers in his mouth. He whistled sharply, and waited.
Just as he was beginning to fear there was no one at home, his sensitive ears picked up incoming hoofbeats. A glimmer appeared through the trees, like a lost star. Lit by that shimmering light, a tall gray form stepped onto the path, barring Buck’s way.
Wonderful.Just when I thought this morning couldn’t get any worse. Him.
“Hello, Alder-in-Winter,” Buck said without enthusiasm.
His least favorite unicorn regarded him with equal displeasure.*Male Deer.*
Buck grimaced—more at the unpleasant sensation of someone else speaking in his head than at the over-literal mangling of his given name. The unicorn’s telepathy always felt like dry leaves brushing the inside of his skull.
“Need to ask you a favor,” he said. “One of our campers slipped out last night. I think he might have accidentally wandered into your neck of the woods.”
Alder’s ears flattened.*Slight Breeze gave me his word that no humans would approach our boundaries.*
Not for the first time, Buck wondered why Alder’s magic—which let the unicorn speak to anything from people to pillbugs—consistently fell down where it came to names. In his less charitable moments, he suspected the motherlover did it on purpose.
“First of all, Zephyr doesn’t know a damn thing about any of this, so don’t try to pin the blame on him,” he said. “And second, there’s no need to clutch your pearly horn in horror. The kid’s a shifter. You know damn well that humans aren’t allowed at the camp.”
Alder snorted, black-rimmed nostrils flaring.*A human is a human, whether they walk on two legs or not. Being able to change form does not change one’s nature.*
“Look, I didn’t come here to have a philosophical discussion,” Buck snapped. “I know how you feel about outsiders tramping through your land, but I need to find the kid. Are you going to give me permission to cross your border, or are we going to have a problem?”
Alder’s gray eyes narrowed. He was damn big for a wild unicorn. They mainly tended to be dainty things, but Alder would have outweighed the average elk. A lot of muscle lay behind his pointy end.
Try it, motherlover.A long, silent growl rumbled through his head. For once, Buck didn’t try to push the beast back. He matched the unicorn’s hostile stare, not backing down.Bet that fancy horn would make a real good lightning rod.
Alder must have had much the same thought. The unicorn dipped his muzzle in a grudging nod.
*I will allow you to retrieve your errant youngster.*Alder turned, long black tail flicking in irritation.*But I will accompany you at all times. Quickly, now. The rest of the herd will be awakening soon, and I will not have a stray human alarming our foals.*
Privately, Buck thought the foals were likely to be considerably less alarmed than Alder himself. The younger members of the unicorn herd had always shown considerably more curiosity toward their two-legged neighbors than the more conservative herd elders.
But he couldn’t really blame Alder for being wary of humans, or even shifters. The unicorn herd hadn’t always lived on Thunder Mountain. Their old territory had been destroyed a decade ago, and it was only thanks to the efforts of the Thunder Mountain Hotshots—Buck’s old wildland firefighter crew—that the herd had survived at all.
Alder was old enough to remember the bad times, and how close his people had come to extinction. It was no wonder that he wanted to keep their new home completely isolated from the outside world. Unlike shifters, unicorns couldn’t pass unnoticed in general society. Their magic let them conceal themselves somewhat, but a whole herd of pure white ‘deer’ was still odd enough to raise awkward questions, if any human caught a glimpse of them.
With Alder now following along like a disapproving, four-footed maiden aunt, Buck continued along Ignatius’s trail. It was immediately apparent that they were now in unicorn territory. All the plants were a little greener, a little lusher. There was a sense of artistry in the way the trees grew, as though some gardener had coaxed every branch into the most esthetically pleasing angle. Even the motherloving rocks seemed to sparkle.
The critters were bolder, too. As Buck searched for Ignatius’s tracks, he caught sight of a group of deer, peacefully browsing in the rosy dawn light. A fox trotted across the path, bold as you please, followed by two boisterous cubs. Squirrels scampered overhead, peering down at him without a trace of fear.
That gave him an idea. With the sky lightening to pink, the dawn chorus was starting up in earnest now. Buck eyed a nearby blue jay speculatively.
“Alder,” he said. “You do the—”
The unicorn interrupted him before he could finish the sentence.*Alder-in-Winter.*
