She crept silently from her hiding spot behind the immense girth of the ancient tree, holding her breath, eyes locked on the one-horn. It had seen her, but she was still twenty paces away and so far it seemed unconcerned.
When, finally, It turned its head and locked eyes with her, she said, “Here, boy. Good boy. You know me? No man does…”
Apparently convinced, it slowly walked through the tall grass to find her hands with its nose. She opened one palm to release the sugar cube to its lips. She whispered, “You’re not mine, yet. But I’m yours.”
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