He runs to a tree, finds a sooty rope ladder, and starts to climb. Soon we’re pulling ourselves onto blackened planks. It’s the floor of a tree house. The walls are gone, but the plank floor seems solid enough. Win drops to his stomach and I lie next to him. We peer at the ground below. “This is the best unicorn-spotting platform in Roar,” he whispers.

We keep as still as possible, listening to insects and watching spots of light dance across the forest floor. We don’t have to wait long. Soon we hear twigs snapping and leaves being pushed aside. “Are you sure it’s a unicorn?” I ask, my heart speeding up. “I mean, how can you tell that’s a unicorn and not a scarecrow?”

“Because scarecrows don’t have horns,” says Win.

And just then a large blue unicorn steps out of the trees. It’s got a scattering of silver spots over its coat, large milky eyes, and a ridiculously shaggy mane. It’s beautiful, but its horn is spectacular. It’s silvery and sharp and glows as bright as the moon. I watch, hardly daring to breathe, as the unicorn bends its head and starts crunching something off the forest floor.

Still chewing, it raises its head and fixes its pale eyes on us.

“I think it knows we’re here,” I whisper.

Win scoffs. “Course he knows we’re here! He would have sniffed us out from miles away. Unicorns are super good at smelling.”

“Can we get closer?” I ask.

“We can try.”

I follow Win’s lead and slowly we make our way back down the ladder to the ground. The unicorn watches us the whole time. I reach out my hand in what I hope is a friendly gesture. “Here, unicorn,” I say, wriggling my fingers.

“He’s not a cat, Arthur,” scoffs Win. “If you want him to come closer, then you’ll need to give him something he likes. I’ll try to find some apples.” Then Win darts off and out of the camp, leaving me alone with the very majestic and slightly scary unicorn.

Still munching, he stares at me.

“Hello,” I say, taking a step closer. “I’m Arthur Trout.” Then, thinking it might impress him, I add, “Master of Roar.”

It doesn’t impress him. In fact, he rolls his eyes.

In case I sounded too cocky, I kneel down on the ground to show I’m subservient to him.

Then something amazing happens. The unicorn kneels down too, like he’s copying me! To see if I’m right, I dip my head. The unicorn dips his head too. Slowly I get up, but the unicorn stays where he is, his nose buried in the long grass, his broad back low to the ground. Does he want me to sit on him?