They were moving the river.
Ansel stood, a hand on the unicorn foal nobody else could see, and watched them. They were shifting their water-catchers and moving in rock, lots and lots of rock.
“It’s all right,” Ansel assured the foal that was also his sister. “See? They’re going to clean the water.”
She headbutted his hip, using her jowl and nose to avoid poking him with her tiny-but-deadly horn. Ansel chuckled. “It’s going to be okay.” He pointed at the rock they were bringing in. “Someone decided to learn. And once they decide to learn, things begin moving.”
She made a noise somewhere between a whicker and a whinny. Ansel, in return, petted her mane. She didn’t speak, not the way humans did. But she knew more clearly than any of them what was good and right and what was wrong.
“It’ll be fine.” And because she believed him, Ansel found he, too, believed it.
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