In Feyland, not everything is as it seems...
Feyland: a new computer game that allows Scottish teenager Corinne MacArthur to escape the sadness haunting her everyday life after the loss of a loved one.
It's a game where legends come to life, the lines between reality and fantasy become blurred, and the impossible becomes—probable?
The unicorn splashed down the stream, before hopping up the bank. Masking our scent. Clever. Behind her, Elphin's breathing became less ragged and she wound her hands into the unicorn's mane as he cantered off through the trees. "Hold on!" Corinne cried, unnecessarily, as Elphin's grip around her waist became vice-like.
Branches whipped around them as they careened through the forest, and more than once she had to duck down over the animal's neck to avoid being swept off its back by a low branch. Behind her, Elphin mirrored her every move as she crouched forward to keep balanced while the unicorn ran, or leaned back when they travelled downhill.
But the hounds were relentless. No matter how fast the unicorn galloped, they couldn't seem to lose the fearsome hunters. Eerie howling and baying echoed through the trees, punctuated at intervals by a creepily atonal hunting horn.
Got to do something about this. Swinging the bow off her shoulders, she twisted round, then recoiled in horror. It was like the hounds of hell were after them; the dark huntsman on his black stallion frenziedly driving the slavering dogs whose savage teeth and glowing red eyes were mere yards behind them.
"Who are they? What are they?"
"The Wild Hunt," Elphin shouted, his voice higher-pitched than usual.
Nothing about this sounds good. What on earth was going on in this game? She clenched her jaw and aimed into the pack.
Her first arrows went wide of the mark, but after a couple of tries she got the knack of aiming, and managed to hit one of their pursuers. Wounded, it landed at the side of the track with a yelp of surprise. But the rest of the hounds just kept running, their pace not faltering. She ground her teeth. There aren't enough arrows in my quiver to injure all of them.
"How can we escape them?"
"I do not know."
Then inspiration struck. She turned towards him. "What about your magical cloak?"
He shook his head. "They hunt by smell, not sight. So it will be of no use."
She put a hand on the unicorn's shoulder, feeling its muscles ripple and bunch as it powered underneath them, making the double burden seem effortless. But he'd eventually tire, she knew that. She glanced behind them again.
The unicorn's long, flowing tail streamed behind them like a lure, and the hounds who followed their every twist and turn were getting close—too close!
Corinne swung her bow off her shoulder again, just as a particularly large and vicious grey beast snapped his yellow fangs at the unicorn's hocks...
