A cloven hoof and slender leg, thick with fur at the fetlock, slips out from under the covers and rests on the floor. She stirs as more light illuminates the thicket-like space revealing the whiteness of the birch bark. She breathes lightly beneath her soft, loosely woven blanket, the only part of her left uncovered is the long, curved horn that gives her kind their name: Unicorn. Slivers of morning light stream through the cracks between the entwined vines and branches that make her bed chamber walls. THE PACTġ3 Turns of Seasons before the Incursion of the Predators There, they keep to themselves, hidden under the canopy of their home, with no interest outside their rituals and study – including the other beasts of Fœnum, and the fate of Fœnum itself. The most beautiful of these structures is their primary temple, The Sacred Grove. Through the generations, they have used light magic to shape the trees into structures, spiraling to the sky in graceful, wooden columns, with branches twisted into delicate woven patterns. They are an ancient race, stoic and disciplined, their culture mired in ritual and tradition, and they spend their days studying the sacred power their lives revolve around: the divine Magic of Light. A reclusive, mystic clan, they consist entirely of pure white beasts that are at once like horses, deer and goats with cloven hooves, lions’ tails and a single, spiraling horn stretching from their foreheads. Deep in the shady forests of The Woodland resides the Order of the Horn.
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