She plaits bright coloured ribbons and lavender into cascade of raven’s hair. Sitting in keep’s deep window-well, silvered, frosted air touched her cheek. Unmatched eyes of obsidian and jade, flecked with gold, takes in diamond-etched nightscape below her perch.

Contrast twixt clothes and hair was as with her eyes. She wore a jerkin, leggings, long vest, all in forest shades, and boots of buttery leather. No dress of fine linen and silk. She picks up her bow and quiver, leans out window, calling to her steed.

Magnificent white beast responds, moving out of cloud-scudding shadows, pawing earth beneath tower in anticipation.

“Yes,” she thinks, “Tis a good night for hunting.”

Men are in the woods, hunting unicorn. And, to their surprise and folly, she and her unicorn will stalk them. These hunters now the hunted; this night’s prizes. No unicorn blood will be spilt. Only that of man.

Elsevier shakes her head, emerging from some inner revelry, as tour guide continues, “. . . as we enter the herbalist garden and shed . . .”

She smiles at final tapestry chapter. She whispers,“You shall have freedom.” Static woven unicorn melts into fluid silvery night below a tower. Dips head in recognition, shining horn towards Elsevier.

Stitcheried and woven through writing prompts: Sue Vincent’s #writephoto tower:  Michael’s Tale Weavers 142: the Unicorn, and my fascination with  Hunt of the  Unicorn tapestries at the Cloister’s Museum in New York City.

This is a slide show of the Cloister’s Hunt of the Unicorn Tapestries (more or less in order):

This slideshow requires JavaScript.