Unicorns? Get Real!

They avoid mud and slime.
Your lariat is made of finest satin. When throwing it, aim for the horn. If you are successful in your lassoing, drop to your knees instantly and bow your head. The unicorn will then trot directly to you.
Never pull on the lariat. Pulling on the lariat could injure the horn.
    “All right, y’all,” Frankie continued. “These are some of the basics. We shall be setting off soon. Now, your footmen who usually attend your carriages and horses have already gone ahead to make camp, and I want you all to be ready to leave within the hour. Got that?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” they all answered in unison.
    “Oh, and by the way, I know that in your home kingdoms you are accustomed to riding sidesaddle in your gowns. But not here, y’all. None of this petticoat and gown business. Here we ride western style—facing front. How in the name of Saint Dude do you expect to see anything facing sideways? I’ve always found that those loose over-gowns, kirtles, whatever you call them, are a complete nuisance. And no big wide sleeves, no trains, no veils. We can’t have you flouncing around out there on the plains in all that court getup. You’ll wear chaps like these over breeches. Your hair shall be braided by the hair maids into two sensible braids. You shall wear a hat—yes, this is a hat, even if you’ve never seen one quite like it,” she said, pointing to the odd thing on her head. “It will stay on when you gallop, and it will protect you from the sun.”
    Frankie’s hat had not quite done the job. She had a solid band of freckles across her nose and stretching from ear to ear.
    As they left the stables, Princess Morwenna, who was walking beside Alicia, said, “I don’t think it’s godly for us to wear these britches and chaps, as she calls them. And to ride western style. Outrageous.”
    “Whatever!” Alicia muttered.

Chapter 8
    ROUNDUP

    The silk tents in pastel colors glowed under the light of a pale moon. Twenty princesses gathered around the campfire. They leaned against their saddles—the velveteen, super-cushie, butt-friendly princess pony models from the Royal Outdoor Life Catalogue . It was a starry night, and as Gundersnap looked at the heavens she thought, I should be so happy here . She was out on the plains of Wesselwick tracking unicorns. Drifts of stars flowed through the night. Her difficult mother, the Empress Maria Theresa, was far away. And Frankie was just the best! But she was far from happy. She felt as though she were drowning in a grief as huge as any ocean. Menschmik! Menschmik, where are you? She tipped her head back and looked up at the stars. Please, dear Lord, save my pony .
    Gundersnap settled back now against her pony’s saddle and listened to the strange ballad that Frankie was singing. Frankie’s sweet, sad song wove into the night and through the stars that seemed close enough to touch.
“Oh give me a home where the unicorns roam
And royal gals gallop and play ,
Where seldom a flounce is able to bounce
And our hair stays braided all day .
Home, home on the plains
Where royal gals gallop and play ,
With skirts left behind, our lassos unwind
And our pigtails are flopping away .
Oh give me a land where the sky is so grand
And stars from the blackness beam,
Where falcons glide and princesses ride
In search of the unicorn’s gleam.”
    But where might her dear Menschmik be now, at this very moment? Gundersnap hated to even think about it. He could be in a battle. Yes, they would cover him with leather and all the horse armor, but that would make it even harder for him to gallop. She imagined Menschmik gasping and stumbling across a battlefield, his small lungs crumbling inside his narrow chest. Many of the princesses had set up their lanyard hooks while Frankie sang and were braiding great lengths of satin ribbon using the diamond or spiral braid pattern. But the long satin ribbons lay lank in Gundersnap’s lap. She had not braided half an inch.
    “Not making yourself a lanyard, lass?” Gortle came up to her. He had come along on the unicorn hunt, helping to set up the tents and doing odd jobs around the campsite.
    “I don’t have the heart, Gortle. I just can’t stop thinking about Menschmik.”
    “I know, dear, but I think that there’s a very good chance, Menschmik being as fast as he is, that the empress won’t use him in battle, but only as a messenger pony.”
    “You’re just saying that to make me feel better, I know,