‘Hi,’ said Prince Lir. ‘Glad to meet you.’ His smile wriggled at their feet like a hopeful puppy, but his eyes—a deep shadowy blue behind stubby lashes—rested quietly on the eyes of the Lady Amalthea. She looked back at him, silent as a jewel, seeing him no more truly than men see unicorns. But the prince felt strangely, happily certain that she had looked him round and through, and down into caverns that he had never known were there, where her glance echoed and sang. Prodigies began to waken somewhere southwest of his twelfth rib, and he himself—still mirroring the Lady Amalthea—began to shine.
THE LAST UNICORN
Peter S. Beagle