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I’m one of the old ones. I’ve lived many lives, done many things. I’ve been called sorceress, witch, and far worse. Mortals have hung me, burned me, staked me out and left me to die. What a pack of fools. I’m immortal, and their petty attempts were laughable.
So were they when I stopped their puny, pathetic hearts. The thrill of ending someone never gets old, no matter how unbalanced the contest.
When I want a break from everything, Dorcha—my bondmate—and I bide with the Circle of Assassins. I never mean to stay long, but the years have a way of slipping by.
While I find peace within the Circle, Dorcha becomes restive. She never used to mind being the only unicorn, but she’s grown silent, withdrawn. The place within me where I feel her energy is often empty.
We need a nice juicy assignment to get things back on track, a mission worthy of our skill. Excited by the prospect of free-flowing blood and the crusty stench of battle, I searched for her, but she was gone.
Worse than gone, my link with her was buried beneath layers of unicorn enchantment. Could I find her? Sure, but she didn’t wish to be found.
I'm basically a mountaineer at heart. I remember many hours at my desk where my body may have been stuck inside four walls, but my soul was planning yet one more trip to the backcountry. There's a timeless element to the mountains. They feel like old friends as I visit them, and visit them again. There's nothing like standing on a remote pass where I've been before and seeing that the vista is unchanged. Or on an equally remote peak. Mountains are the bones of the world. They'll prevail long after all of us are dust. It feels honest and humbling to share space with them. I hope I'm blessed with many more years to wander the local landscape. The memories are incomparable. They warm me and help me believe there will be something left for our children and their children after them.