The Unicorn Who Hated Glitter

Once, at the top of the long meadow, there lived a unicorn named Petal, gold from the ear down. It was not gold she had asked for, and it came off her mane in a fine dust whenever anyone was watching. It settled on her hooves, her eyelashes, the grass at her feet, and no amount of shaking put an end to it.

The rabbits came up the path in a band, as they did every morning.

"Sparkle for us, Petal. Do the shiny thing."

And Petal did the shiny thing. She tossed her head, the gold caught the sun, and the rabbits clapped until the path was yellow with it. All the while she wished they would look at something else.

Down in the wood, where the moss grew thick, there lived an old badger who had never once looked up at her.

"They don't want me, they want the gold," said Petal.

"They want the gold," said the badger.

"Then take it off me."

"I cannot, and nobody can," said the badger, and went on digging. "That gold is a habit the meadow has, and you keep it going every time you shine. Stand still the fourth time they ask you, and it will leave you."

"And then?"

The badger threw earth out behind him.

"And then it is gone," said the badger. "It will not come back. Not next spring, not ever, not for anybody who begs you."

"Then what is left of me?"

"What was there before," said the badger, and he did not look up.

The next morning there were more of them, a line of rabbits down the fence and two hares from the far field.

"Sparkle for us, Petal. Do the shiny thing."

And Petal did the shiny thing. She shook until the air above the path went yellow and the hares stamped in the grass.

"Again," said a rabbit. "Do it again."

On the third morning the meadow was full. Creatures had come from three fields and stood shoulder to shoulder in the wet grass, as if a fair had been called.

"Sparkle for us, Petal. Do the shiny thing."

And Petal did the shiny thing. She did it until her legs shook and the gold hung over the whole meadow in a cloud.

"Look at the shiny thing," said a hare at the back. "Look at it go."

"Petal," said Petal. Nobody heard her.

On the fourth morning they came up the path before the sun was over the hill.

"Sparkle for us, Petal. Do the shiny thing."

And Petal did not. She stood in the grass with her head down and her mane hanging, and she held it still. Not one grain of gold came off her.

"The sparkle's gone," said one, and another said, "Do it anyway."

"I can't," said Petal.

They waited. Then they went off down the path in twos and threes to find something that shone. By midday the fence was empty. Petal shook her mane out to be sure, and not a grain rose, then or after.

For a long while fewer creatures came up the meadow, because there was nothing to see from the fence. A fox kit crept up one morning while her breath went silver in the cold, and stayed until the sun came round. Near the end of the winter a fawn came out of the trees on legs it did not trust yet.

"They said there was a gold one at the top of the meadow," said the fawn.

"There was," said Petal. "It went."

"I'll stay a bit, then," said the fawn, "if it's all the same to you."

It folded its legs against her flank and put one ear to her side, where her heart went like a little drum. Petal stood over it all night. Her mane hung plain and dark. The fawn slept on.