Worthless was wandering loose, sans the mountain man who normally occupied the spot on his back. Amos was down in the Sioux camp, discussing human things. Equines had more sense and fewer inhibitions in doing what was necessary. Humans talked and talked and talked until they were blue in the face, and when they caught their breath, they started talking some more. The half horse, half unicorn understood most speech, but gave it wide berth lest it soil his ears. Heck, the one sole time ole Amos had been in Washington D.C., Worthless had suffered a headache of epic proportions. It wasn't so much the banter as it was the level of lying, cheating, back-stabbing, ass-kissing, haranguing by that sorry group of agitating, fanatical, incendiary lawmakers. Worthless was thankful to Noah Webster, and to Daniel Webster as well, for that colorfully worded commentary. Human politics was dirtier than a privy pit behind a New Orleans cathouse.

     The equine had chosen to wander out of complete boredom. Oh there were mares aplenty in the pens below, but none of them were in heat at the moment, and while he had the power to correct that little oversight, he found it wasn't worth the trouble it caused poor Amos. Those Indian folk could get riled up over some pretty innocuous stuff. They never complained however, when his foals were born a year later a hand taller and with the ability to frolic within ten minutes of hitting the ground. By then they seemed to forget the initial distress he might or might not have caused theirmares during his amorousness. He couldn't help it that Paints were so darn small. It was the one thing he missed about the cities; their abundance of Belgians and Clydesdales. Now there were horses who could take a piece of meat the size of…

     His thoughts trailed off as he spied movement in the gully below. In all likelihood it was going to be one of the tribesmen's children playing at hunting, or perhaps playing chunkey or some other nonsense. But who or whatever it was was making a bit too much racket for a small human and no self respecting horse would travel so carelessly. Therefore it needed investigating. It very well could be some no good cavalryman scouting out for an undignified ambush. Not that white men were prone to doing things like that. But ole Worthless was already convinced it wasn't a man, red or white. Well, white had caught his eye, but the size, shape and movement spoke of something else. The question to be answered was what. There were a lot of creatures in this world that didn't make a habit of making their presence known.

     He had encountered more than his share, from jackalopes to dragons to chimeras. This creature sounded larger than some, and possibly less dangerous than others. White could mean several things, most of which would be completely out of place here in the plains. Yeti were restricted to the Himalayas, while Polar bears stayed where it was cool. It could be an albino, since that little quirk showed up in every species. But he swore he saw feathers. There weren't too many ground birds of a size left in this world, and none were native to where he presently stood. He had encountered a few Terror Birds down in South America, and they were nasty fellows to deal with. He hardly thought that one of them would have made it this far north without attracting attention. And that would have attracted Amos.

     Therefore, whatever it was, it had come here silently. Humans were often oblivious to the world around them, but Indians were more apt to keep one eye on their surroundings. Any creature able to appear out of thin air was automatically to be considered dangerous. If they hadn't noticed it yet, that mention the creature was stealthy; or worse. But there was no smell of blood. The only thing he could sense with his sensitive nose was dirt, plants, humans and horses. Perhaps then he was seeing a ghost? Could be, but it still didn't explain the feathers.

     He maneuvered along the top of the shallow gully, hoping for a better view. Nothing. He sniffed the air again, hoping for some smell that would clue him into this mystery interloper's identity. He caught the same smells as before, but this time there seemed to be a hint of oceans, olives and figs. That was weird. It meant whatever this creature was, it had recently come from California. According to Amos, the Spaniards were the first to plant those tasty treats there in 1769. Perhaps it had a taste for them as did ole Worthless. That meant that maybe it wasn't going to be dangerous after all.

     As he walked, he examined the rock hard ground for clues. Mud and soft dirt were great for capturing the essence of an enemy, or a friend, but this hard packed, dried out excuse for soil left little in the way of evidence. A few dislodged rocks were about it. That could mean anything from a bear to a horse to a wapiti. Or a Terror Bird. That liked figs and olives. It didn't make any sense.

     Whatever it was, it seemed to be in a hurry, but yet didn't seem to know precisely where it was heading. Worthless wasn't exactly pursuing it, but perhaps it felt it was being followed, for it remained just out of his ability to see it. Every once in a while he could hear it crashing through the brush, seemingly heedless of the noise it was making. Even a stupid horse wouldn't make that much racket. It would simply back out of the thicket and find a better route.

     He was contemplating this when he heard the scream. It sounded like it came from a horse. It was that high keening note of an animal lost to a predator. Whatever the animal was he was following, it apparently had an appetite for meat as well as exotic fruits. He figured right off the hoof that he would never reach the poor fellow before he was finished off, but whatever it was that was attacking him would remain in one place long enough for him to identify it. Worthless kicked it into high gear.

     He could smell the blood as he slid down into the gully. It was horse blood, though it smelled weird; sort of spicy, if that made sense. Whatever the attacker had been, it had chosen a wise spot to trap the horse. There were two large barrel cacti growing on either side, essentially narrowing the path to a bare minimum. And there, stuck on one enormous spine, was a very large, white feather. It was splattered with red. Blood. The cacti took their toll of both participants of this life and death struggle.

     Worthless backed up and climbed up the gully sides, around the cacti, and followed the top lip for a few yards. He could see nothing, but he heard panting and wheezing from down below, where the gully opened up onto the plain. He slid back down and followed the crimson drops spattered on the rocks. It was then that he saw the rump sticking out from behind an outcrop. It was a horse's, but it was still standing. Good for it! That meant it had put up a fight! That was his kind of horse!

     He quietly and stealthily approached, not wishing to make a commotion and attract the predator back. He came around from behind, again catching that strange smell. He stuck his nose out within inches of the horse's rump and sniffed. The odors that filled his nostrils made him sneeze. It told him many things at once, but not before the head attached the other end of the rump neighed in terror. The rump disappeared, but Worthless heard the animal drop a second later.

     He whipped around the corner in time to see a flutter of bloodied white wings on the back of the horse. Then he stopped. The wings weren't attached to any predator. They were attached to the horse. Now unicorns were the stuff of legends, because people made up stories to explain them. True, they were rare, but they existed. A flying horse was fable. It was made up in the mind of some storyteller from long ago. That was it. A flight of fancy, if you'll pardon the pun.

     The fable got to its feet. Without turning to look at Worthless, it spit out what sounded remarkably like human language."Fyge! Afiste me isycho! Den boreite na deite eimai traymatismenos?" It was human in origin, and not one likely to be spoken by anyone anywhere in this area. Ole Amos would have understood it, but Worthless had no trouble understanding it either. It was Greek. Old Greek. Socrates kind of Greek. The kind even the Greeks didn't speak any more. Winged horse. Greek. His mind was racing; that winged horse Pegasus was only a legend. Even if he wasn't, the tales told how he was placed in the sky as a constellation. Either way he couldn't be here; not alive and breathing on the American plains. Besides, his snort in its nether regions told him full well it was a mare.

     What the horse had cried out was pretty much a plea to be left alone. As it got to its feet, Worthless saw that one wing in particular was askew, and both had feathers missing. Long scratches wove their way down its flank. These ugly gashes dripped little gems of red. As recent as they looked, they must have come from a run-in with the aforementioned cacti. It also explained the wings' condition, but not the odd angle the one was drooping at. That looked more like an eagle's after a run in with a bear.

     The winged anomaly turned ever so slowly to gaze upon the one who had startled it off its feet. There was nothing wrong with its eyesight, but it didn't keep it from blinking a few times. It was common knowledge that Worthless often looked up to his name. Amos liked that just fine. His ugly mix of white with patches of dark hair, coupled with the circle over his "bad" eye, plus the leather patch affixed to his head made him look worse than a mule headed for the glue factory. He was a size larger than the average horse, but that only meant that there was more of him to be ugly. The creature looked him over, He was reciprocating with a jaundiced eye. With the exception of the present damage, she would have been as white as an angel fresh from heaven.

     She started to speak again, but he was unable to verbally communicate in return. She got the idea after several attempts to engage him in conversation. She was beginning to think he was stupid when she noticed his bad eye was glowing. He moment she caught its gaze, she was locked into his mind. Now they could talk unhindered by physiology or language. He opened. “Well my fine filly. You seem in dire distress for someone who should not exist. Who are you, and by all means give me the details of your existence."

     It took the mare a moment to find her tongue, so to speak. They were conversing, essentially, in Greek, though in a mind-to-mind exchange like this, such a thing as language was very nearly moot. “How are you doing this? Only the Gods have such power!"

     Worthless let loose a mental chuckle that came out his mouth as a stifled whinny. “Gods? Haven't met one yet I was impressed with. Well, maybe one but the verdict is still out on that one. This ability is part of my natural power, or perhaps you might say; unnatural power. Have you never met a unicorn before?"

     She shook her head as she answered. “No I have not. But then, I learned a long time ago from my brother not to stay on the ground for any longer than was necessary. Bad things happen if you do. Just look at me! I may never fly again! And my beautiful hide is ruined! Just because some demi-god thought it would be funny to try and catch me!"

     Worthless shook his own head. Gods? Demigods? What was this filly blathering on about? The only gods the locals feared here were nothing along the lines that this horse was referring to. “Excuse me, miss…" He stopped. “You know, I don't think we've had proper introductions. I'm called Worthless. And you are?"

     She bowed her head a little. “They call me Chrysaor.

     hat gave him pause for thought. Chrysoar? It was mildly familiar. If she was truly Chrysoar, then the tales had gotten it wrong; very, very wrong. In the tales, the one going by that name was male, and not a horse. However, Chrysoar did have a more famous brother; Pegasus. Everyone knew that story. Few though knew he had a sibling. Apparently there had been some confusion, passed down by humans of course, over the nature of that family relationship. After all, how could a horse have a human sibling?

    “So you are Pegasus' younger sister? It makes sense, in a cosmic sort of way. But it doesn't explain why you're here, and more importantly, why you are here now. If would go far to have that little detail brought to light." She looked more than confused.

     “It would help then, to know where and when I am, as you so frankly put it. The last I knew, I was flying over Mount Olympus when a face and a flash of lightning came out of nowhere. I felt the power of a thousand bolts rip through me, and when I could see again, I was crashing towards the ground. I snagged my wing on a crag before totally spinning out of control. I hit the ground not far from here, bruised, but otherwise intact. I was trying to find a place to hide from the local people. This terrain is completely unfamiliar to me. And those horrid plants ripped me to shreds!"

     Now this was food for thought. As far as he knew, such beasts as she hadn't existed in the world for millennia. As far as he was concerned, until just a few moments ago they had never existed at all. Sooooo. If she was here now and not there then, then something extraordinary had to have happened. He could tell she had no idea where she was, or likely what the present date was. This was going to be awkward.

     “Look my little filly; you are presently standing on the plains west of the great Mississippi, in the lands of the Blackfeet and the Crow. I have no idea how you got here, and I mean that both in distance traveled physically as well as temporally. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say you are outside your normal time by some two thousand years and about three times that in distance!"

     The mare slowly sank to the ground. There were fresh tears in her eyes. “You're telling me that some god blasted me out of my own world and into another?"

     He clarified matters for her.“This is your world, as much as it's anybody's. You are no longer in Greece and no longer in your own time. To be frank, I haven't the slightest idea how to send you back, and I think even Amos would be stuck for a solution. Time travel has never been a viable solution to most of the problems he gets himself mix into. I've seen a thing or two, but the possibility of finding a particular entity with the appropriate power is next to nil. It seems to me you're stuck here. I'd suggest you get used to it."

     She continued to cry. Eventually, perhaps due to dehydration, the tears stopped. “Worthless, whom I will never think of by that name, is there nothing you can do for me?"

     He figured that question was coming up. There were a few things he could do. He walked over to a rocky outcrop and rubbed his head against it vigorously. The leather patch, solidly affixed in place, eventually gave way under his applied friction. In soon fell to the ground in tatters. He turned to face her. “This will take a bit. If you'd like, I'll tell you stories or lay next to you while the human magic wears off." She had no idea what he was talking about, but welcomed the company.

     It took half the day for his horn to grow back out. Amos kept it in check for good reason. But today there was good use for his full power. He could now feel the power coursing through his blood. He stood, turned, and thrust his ivory spiral right into her forehead. She tried to gasp, but found neither pain nor the use of her vocal cords. Heat ran through her head, making it pound. It traveled across her skin and sank into her bones. By the time he pulled loose from her skull, every ache was gon; every scratch, every broken bone and feather was restored.

      She immediately took to the air, pumping her great white wings. Little dust devils fled under their downdraft. In ten seconds flat she was out of sight, becoming one with the clouds. Worthless looked up a bit wistfully. He should have figured she'd desert him once she was able. If he was in her spot, it's likely what he would have done. He didn't feel bad. He had just done a good deed, and without having Amos mishandle the whole damn thing. He couldn't help wishing she had stuck around a little longer. He had a ton of questions for her. He was pretty sure she had plenty for him.

     He found a coyote path and wound his way to slightly higher ground. He looked back only once, knowing full well he'd never see her again. Therefore, he felt like a complete fool when she tackled him from behind. She must have locked her wings and power glided in. He heard the telltale whistle of her feathers only a split second before the two of them went sprawling across the dry grass.

     “Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!" Worthless had had plenty of human females give him kisses, but having a mare straddling him trying to do the same thing was awkward and unsettling. “If you don't mind!" he growled. She projected to him such great joy that he nearly cracked a smile. He even showed more than just his front teeth. His lips parted in a genuine grin. Amos was right. Sometimes it felt good just to do something good for no good reason.

     “You're welcome my dear. But now we need to figure out the best place for you to live. I think going back to Greece is out of the question. There's way too much ocean for you to cross. This is a big country. I think I can figure out a good place for you to hide that will still have food and shelter. One thing's for certain; you'll need to keep away from humans. Once they figure out you're real, they'll be after you like a forty-niner to gold."

     She didn't seem to care. She was too happy to be worried at that moment. But she did sober up. The question she wanted to ask was in the fore front of her mind. “Worthless?"

     “Yes?"

     “Why do the humans here have black feet, and why would I ever be afraid of crows?"

     It was going to take a lot of explaining, and he said so. “Look Chrysoar, this land is unlike any you've ever seen or heard of. It's had people living here before the Greeks or the Turks or the Romans ever thought about becoming civilized. There are creatures here that defy logic, including you. It will take days for me to tell you everything I think you need to know."

     She grew dreamy eyed. “It seems to me that I need to thank you for your kindness. That may take several days as well. Therefore, it seems logical that we combine our forces and get both aspects accomplished together. Or is the lady out of line suggesting such a thing?" With his horn back, his nether regions were working in full order. Her suggestion nearly drained the blood to his brain as his “fifth" leg increased in hydraulic pressure.

     Amos was sitting in camp. He wasn't concerned about his mount. Worthless tended to get bored easily. But three days now and no one had seen neither hide nor hair of him. It must be something powerful to keep him away. But none of the natives had seen much of anything to indicate where he hd gone. It was Chetewaka, the youngest son of old Por-se-we-oh, who gave him the first real clue. The boy brought him a large white feather and a small rock covered in dark, dried blood. Amos sniffed both, and came to a confused conclusion. They both smelled the same. Whatever lost the feather lost the blood. It smelled like horse, but then, it had sat out in the sun for days. It might have been cactus juice at this point.

     So he waited. On the next day, a worn and tired looking piebald horse returned to the camp. They all knew it was the white man's steed, but the patch on his forehead was now gone. In its place was a beautiful spiral of purest ivory. Amos came out of the teepee, took one look at him and cursed.“Dammit horse! These injuns ain't never seen no unicorn, and they never should have. You ain't got a lick of sense in that head of yours sometimes." He turned back towards the teepee and rummaged in his saddlebags. By the time he came back out, Worthless was standing at the flap, his head lowered. “Git in here you sorry excuse for a quadruped. It's gonna take me an hour to file that damn thing down to where I can mask it over again. I hope you're happy!"

     Amos wasn't nearly as angry as he sounded. Worthless wasn't worthless, and if he removed the patch, then something peculiar must have been going on. He worked and filed until he had the patch back in place. A few words helped to seal the powders underneath from coming loose. He patted the equine on the rump. “Well, whatever it was, I hope you didn't get into too much trouble. As it is, you can get some R&R here in the camp. Several of the braves want to have mounts of their own that have “special" powers, so I told them you'd be more than up for the job. Doesn't that make you happy?

      Worthless sighed and dropped to the floor like a stone. He was going to need his horn back.