The black unicorn had washed up on the island shore at sun-up. Ilia had thought he was dead when she found him. She had sent for their King, a stallion only a few years older than the Black One, and stood by the Black One until the King had arrived. The auburn mare backed away when the King knelt to examine him.

"He is not dead, Ilia," he said. Ilia bowed her head, and the King touched her mane with his muzzle. "You are not trained in medecine, young one. You will learn."

"Yes, King," Ilia murmured.

The King called for a stretcher pulled by two strong stallions, and when it came, he ordered them to take the Black One to the Healer. It took the three stallions much effort to lift him. Ilia followed the stallions as they walked off. The King stood on the beachsand, shaking his thick white mane. The sun striking his golden pelt and crystal horn made him look almost like their god, Ryhennon the Flaming One. He stood there, contemplating this problem until the sun was high in the sky and Ryhennon's Eye blazed with much fury.

The black unicorn remembered a great storm that washed him into the sea, and great claws raking his back. He floated on the water for a long time, and washed up on a beach. An auburn mare bent over him, then a golden stallion. He was being lifted by three sets of teeth, and was set down on a webbing of vines. He was being dragged, into a cool place. Water was given to him, flavored with strange herbs. A voice, husky - a stallion's voice - told him to sleep. The stallion's eyes fell shut, and he sank into a deep oblivion.