Slowly, Claire lowered her arms from her face. The light was still there, but this time, Claire refused to look away. Letting the tears stream down her cheeks, she focused on the brilliant haze. Though she had to squint, she thought she could make out the arch of a neck, a ripple of mane, and then—

A spiraling horn—clear as sunlight—dipping down to brush the moontears.

The melody burst into a harmony.

Claire laughed in delighted wonder as she caught a glimpse of five horns and five flowing tails before they galloped up the mountain, moving so fast that they seemed to be only streaks of light. They looked like shooting stars in reverse, and Claire questioned how she and all of Arden hadn’t realized sooner what the unicorns truly were: wishes come to life.

And then they were gone, vanished somewhere into the jagged peaks and clear blue sky. The only things the unicorns left behind were a mess of hoofprints stamped in the mud and a single purple ribbon.

Claire swooped down to pick it up. The mud easily slipped off the Woven Root material, and she quickly wound it around her pencil before placing it into her cloak pocket. The spark of joy remained in Claire, though its warmth was less without the unicorns’ song. In fact, everything was colder. Much, much colder.

The wraiths.

Anxiously, Claire scanned the jagged peaks again. There was still no sign of the unicorns, only snow and the blue dome of the sky.

But wait. Claire frowned. The glare of the sunlight on snow had intensified, and the snow line seemed closer than before. And then she heard it: a rumbling. The sound of not one unicorn, or five, or even a hundred—but thousands.

They galloped from the peaks, spilling down the mountainsides as though an evening sky had been tipped over. They poured out over the rocks like infinite rain.

A herd of unicorns.

A blessing of unicorns.

An avalanche of unicorns.

They were a blizzard of flowing tails and whipping manes, a flurry of diamond hooves and dark-jeweled eyes. Crystal horns as sharp as the points on a crescent moon and as brilliant as ice on fire pointed upward to the stars they’d come from.

They were a storm of starlight.

Stunned by the glory, Claire couldn’t move—or take her eyes off the unicorn in the front. This unicorn galloped with the graceful sway of the magnolia blossoms outside their shared bedroom window. Of dance parties in the living room. Of the millions upon millions of everyday moments that made up their lives as sisters.

Without stopping her gallop (and probably not without a little bit of magic), the unicorn bowed her head, and Claire wove her hands into the mane and heaved herself up onto the unicorn’s back. The scent of watermelon hit Claire. A summertime smell.

I promised not to leave you behind again.