The faun trundled on between the trees, sometimes snagging his burlap burden on branches. Once his nails cut through the material, but he mended it. He was a handy fellow. He consulted his compass at times, lighting a small flame on his arm fur and keeping it going by means of a safe bead around the base of the hairs.
Inside the bag, the baby unicorn was uncomfortable. Liola struggled to right her cramped legs, but it was no use. She was too weak. Fortunately, her wings were still yet to emerge from her shoulders and hip bones; that would have been too harsh a trial for a newborn.
Around midnight, Staplet paused, and then stopped entirely, laying the bag on the ground. He produced a pouch of grey powder and in pinches described an oval around the bag; only then did he release the knotted cord around the sack’s opening. Then he pulled the bag down from her head and shoulders.
Liola could stand, at last! However, she could not pass outside the circle of magical dust. Faugh!
Staplet smiled at her, offering food.