Drabble 78

Willie shrugged off the cold Irish afternoon.
It was a grey out, fog thick as pea soup. There was a chill in the air and the ground was still soggy from the sky’s tears.
My mood was see sawing with the weather turn.
I turned to Willie, the only light in the room. I leaned on him and he became my Atlas, pulling me out into the mist.
“We’ll get lost!” I protested.
He grinned at the prospect. “I’ve something to show you.”
We clamored over the rocks at the shoreline and he pointed out a white beast in the distance.
It was a proud stallion, stark white in the gloom. And then I saw something shiny on it’s head. Then I didn’t.
“Is that a unicorn?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be.”

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