I’d always been told they didn’t exist when I was a child, and with time I grew to believe it. But there it is, in the woodlands out behind my grandparents old farm, drinking calmly from the river, as though it had always been there.
Strong and proud, alabaster mane cascading down upon it’s ashen white shoulders, silver/grey horn shining in the morning sun.
I find myself struck dumb, taken aback by the awesome beauty of this brilliant, mythic beast as it approaches me.
So dumbstruck, in fact, that It barely registers when it’s fangs sink into my flesh…