I'm not sure how many people believe in unicorns but I'm a believer. Some people may think I'm crazy or perhaps I'm somewhat demented but like the little boy in the story you are about to read, which I believe is a Plains Indian's belief that has been passed down from one generation to the next, I tend to think the legend or myth is absolutely true.
Golden Unicorn Farm didn't derive its name just because we thought it would make a nice name for our new farm. Here where we live at the base of Green Mountain, I not only just saw a unicorn, I took a photograph of one. Just as the leaves started turning different colours last fall, after I had enjoyed a long walk to the nearby lake and was heading towards the driveway, I thought I saw a beautiful white horse peeking around the side of my studio. I was of course curious about the horse and thought it must have escaped from someone's corral as I took its picture, so you can imagine how surprised I was when I blew the photo up on the computer monitor and saw a horn growing out of its forehead. I know, I know what you're thinking, I photoshopped it - except unfortunately - I don't have Adobe Photoshop on my computer.
I've always thought unicorns were just a lot of mythical hogwash, some harry-ferry concoction from the medieval days or beyond but when I checked out the photo I took and then went online and came across The Legend of the Unicorn by Nell Namrehs (full blooded Plains Indian) I can't help believing in unicorns. What the hell, people believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Boogieman, so why not a unicorn?
White Unicorn Peeking Around My Studio
Legend of the Unicorn
by Nell Namrehs
Hundreds of years ago on a warm spring evening, an old man sat on an old weathered log with a long stick pushing large glowing embers towards the centre of a campfire sending myriad of bright red sparks flying skyward. The young boy sitting quietly beside him watched with delight, while the horde of sparks playfully flitted like cheerful fireflies amongst the starry sky. Besides the crackling fire, the occasional mournful howl of a lone wolf in the distance could be heard. A slight breeze was blowing but even though the old man and the boy were scantily attired, wearing only soft leather breeches and moccasins, they felt very warm, not just from the campfire but from the nearby surrounding rocks, which were still radiating heat caused by the hot sun earlier that day.
The old man’s ebony eyes, set deep beneath his prominent brow, glittered and danced in the evening firelight. His leathered skin stretched tight across his high cheek bones, his long pointed nose and prominent chin made him look as fierce as a eagle. However, he was anything but fierce; in fact, he was a very gentle man. As he rubbed the back of his neck, then ran his fingers through his long silvery hair and toyed for a moment with a feather attached by a tiny braid, he looked down at the boy seated beside him. Smiling to himself, he thought back to a time when it had been his son sitting next to him instead of his grandson and wondered if he would one day be fortunate enough to have the pleasure of sharing a campfire with a great grandson.
Resting the long stick against the log, its end still smoking from the fire, he folded his arms across his chest and said, “Before we go to sleep, there is a story I would like to tell you, which has been passed down through the ages from one generation to the next. Some say the tale is a myth, others a legend and some even believe its nothing but foolish nonsense. However, I like to believe the tale is true; after all, just because a person is unable to actually see something, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist. Take for instance the wind: when it’s raging; we see tall trees bending, leaves sailing through the air and when it’s barely blowing, we feel its gentle caress against our cheek; yet the wind itself cannot be seen.”
The boy looked up at his grandfather and smiled. He loved listening to the old man’s stories of which there were many. However, this one, from what he could tell by the sound of his grandfather’s voice, would be a story really worth hearing.
Placing his arm around his grandson’s shoulders, he pulled him closer and continued, “A long time ago, a very, very long time ago when the Earth was much younger than what it is now, there once lived a herd of wild horses upon these grassy plains, rolling hills and rugged mountains. They were led by a bold, black stallion with a white blaze that zigzagged up the entire length of his forehead and ended in a sliver of white mane hanging over his shoulder. It’s believed the stallion was born during a violent thunder storm and a lightning bolt shot out of the sky, causing his unusual mark.
One summer day, while the herd was relaxing beneath some shady trees, the stallion noticed a beautiful mare, her coppery coloured coat, white mane and tail shining in the sunlight. She was grazing alone by a creek, which was meandering through a lush green meadow. Like a big, brown bear to honey, he was immediately drawn to her. Although many mares existed within his herd, she soon became his favourite and they were often seen together a short distance away from the other horses.
Before long, the mare was in foal, every day her belly growing larger and larger. The black stallion, because of her condition, became more and more protective. However, even though the two of them could often be seen nuzzling each other with their soft, velvety muzzles, he still remained alert for anything dangerous that might harm one of his herd, such as a hungry prowling bear or a sneaky mountain lion.
When the foal was born, the whole herd gathered around. The coppery mare and black stallion were very proud as the foal struggled to take his first steps. He was gangly, awkward and all legs, but finally, with a little nudge from his mother, he was standing by himself. His coat was the same coppery colour as his mother’s, except his mane and tail were black instead of white. However, even though a thunderstorm hadn’t occurred the day of his birth, the foal had the same markings as his sire; a white blaze zigzagged up the entire length of his forehead and ended in a streak of sliver white mane, which because he was so young, barely hung over his shoulder.
It wasn’t long after the foal was able to stand properly; he was running and playing with the other colts and fillies. Even at such an early age, the herd sensed that he was born to be a leader because an aura of strength, fortitude, courage and determination emanated from his very being. He was admired by the other young colts and many a filly already had their eye on him, such was his demeanor. However, as time passed by, when he wasn’t cavorting with the other colts, he could often be seen with a pretty, cream-coloured filly with long, dazzling white mane and tail.
When the colt with the lightning blaze on his forehead became a yearling, he began complaining about having a headache to his mother. Although she couldn’t see anything wrong, suspecting that he may have fallen down or been kicked during a playful session with the other young horses, she gently massaged and nuzzled his forehead. When he suddenly quit frolicking and having mock battles with the other colts and spent most of his time with his mother and pretty filly friend, they began to see it as a weakness, even resorting to name-calling such as “sissy and mama’s boy”.
As the days proceeded into weeks and months, the young colt’s throbbing headaches became worse and worse; to the point that it tore his mother’s heart out to see him in such pain; especially when tears welled up and began flowing down his cheeks. And then, one morning, while she was gently nuzzling his forehead with her muzzle, she noticed a small lump under his forelock. She began massaging his forehead daily, hoping it would go away. However, instead of shrinking in size, the lump continued growing, which became a great concern to his mother. Within a very short time, the lump grew until it looked like a single horn or antler growing out of his forehead, which made him feel ashamed. He tried breaking it off by charging headfirst into boulders and trees but this only made his headaches worse. When the other young horses saw how long and pointed the bump had become, they began teasing, ridiculing and bullying him more than before. However, the bullies, despite his severe headaches, soon learned the hard way that he wasn’t a coward, nor a mama’s boy, but a colt to be wary of and reckoned with.
When the young horses finally stopped making fun of him, he still kept to himself, the exceptions being his family and the pretty, cream-coloured filly. Although he considered himself a freak of nature, he was more than a little bewildered by the filly since she still regarded him to be the most handsome and bravest horse of all. It seemed the only good thing that eventually resulted from all the name-calling and battles was that his headache had finally ceased.
No longer a spindly colt but a strong full grown horse; like his father, if he had the desire, he would one day become the herd’s leader. However, since he sometimes heard the occasional snicker behind his back and because he was still a little sensitive about the strange object protruding from his forehead, he still remained somewhat reclusive and aloof. Days would often go by when he wasn’t seen and during those times, even his father would worry. Although his son was very strong and courageous, he knew that if confronted by a ravenous grizzly bear or a pack of roving wolves, he would be no match.
Winters had always been harsh, but one winter the cold was so fierce, everything froze solid, including all the ponds and smaller lakes. The snow was so deep, the horses could barely walk or find anything to eat; many of them freezing and starving to death. Besides the horses, other wild animals living within the same area met a similar fate. After the severe winter storms that had continually rumbled down the mountainsides and across the plains finally quit; spring arrived.
Only the strongest of the herd had survived the cruel winter and they were very weak. Although they were once again able to find ample grass to graze on, because of their weakened condition, many of them became prey to the wild carnivores that continually stalked them. One of the worst predators was a grizzly bear, which kept the stallion with the white lightning blaze on his forehead constantly alert – he wasn’t strong enough to tackle a bear – let alone a huge, hungry grizzly bear.
The vicious bear was constantly following the herd of horses, preying on the stragglers, until they were eventually forced into a series of hills and gullies they had never been before. The black stallion valiantly tried to lead them away from the grizzly but his luck ran out when they arrived at the top of a steep cliff – a dead end. The stallion had no choice now but to defend the herd by confronting the bear. He paced to and fro in front of the herd as the big grizzly approached on his hind legs, growling, snarling and flashing his enormous sharp claws and teeth. When the grizzly bear was almost upon him, the stallion quickly spun and kicked out with both back feet. When his hooves struck the bear solidly in the chest, the blows only caused the bear to become more angry. Again the enormous bear waded in for the kill, only this time the stallion reared up on his hind legs and smashed one of his hooves on top of the bear’s gigantic head. The grizzly, somewhat dazed from the blow, shook its head and continued padding towards the stallion, which was now backed right up into the other horses with hardly any room to move, much less fight a raging bear. The stallion was about to try one last attack, which he knew to be futile, but might give the herd a chance to escape, when he heard a loud neigh from behind the bear.
The grizzly bear began turning its head when he heard hooves thundering towards him but not quite fast enough. The stallion’s son reared, lashing out with his sharp hooves and struck the bear on the shoulder almost knocking it to the ground. Before the bear could recover from the attack, he spun around and brutally kicked it in the head with both back hooves. Although injured from the attack, blood gushing down its hairy head, the bear was able to retaliate. Before the stallion’s son was able to get clear, the grizzly swung one of its powerful arms, the deadly paw clawing a deep wound into his rear end. The stallion’s son barely escaped the wounded grizzly, which was now totally enraged. The bear, froth foaming from its mouth, ran towards the stallion’s son at full speed on all fours, attacking him with a blur of fangs and claws. Chunks of hide flew through the air and the blood soon poured from the horse's wounds. Barely able to escape the frenzied attack, the stallion’s son retreated a short distance and then turned to once again to face the bear.
The huge grizzly bear, confident that the horse would be his next meal, stood on its hind legs and began its final but cautious approach. The stallion’s son, fatally wounded but not giving up the fight, hobbled forward, blood dripping from his gaping wounds; his head hung low and gasping for breath. When the bear was very close, the stallion’s son suddenly raised his head to the heavens then looked the grizzly directly in the eye and charged. The bear instinctively dropped downwards so it could grab and maul the charging horse to death but it was unprepared for the strength and power within the stallion’s son or his horn when it stabbed through its chest, piercing the grizzly's heart. The force of the charge carried the bear and the horse, which many of the herd had ridiculed and called cowardly to the edge of the cliff, where they hung momentarily almost suspended in time, before toppling into the rocky canyon below."
The old man felt his grandson shudder and glanced at him just in time to see a tear slide down the young boy’s face. He hugged him against his chest until the lad was able to speak.
“Grandfather” he said, “That’s the saddest story you ever told me. Why did the horse with the strange horn growing out of his head have to die, couldn’t he have just killed the bear and lived?”
The old man gently raised his grandson’s face with his finger tips and looked into his big brown teary eyes and said, “Well, that’s one of the endings some people believe but I much prefer the other.”
“Did the horse live” the little boy hopefully asked?
He shook his head, “No. But many have said the cream coloured filly had a colt who looked exactly like him and I tend to believe that story, because I’m certain that one day when I was a younger man out hunting on the plains, I saw in the distance a horse that had a white lightning blaze and appeared to have a single horn sticking out of its forehead.”
The young boy wiped the tears from his eyes, smiled and looked up at his grandfather, "I like that ending better and maybe if I'm lucky one day, I too will see the wonderful stallion with the jagged white blaze and the horn growing out of his forehead."
