Gleespring leaps to action the second Gerald’s rump touches the saddle. Through the gate Gerald rides, over the drawbridge and into the bountiful grasslands beyond. The air is crisp, fresh; a cool light breeze sifts the powdery snow on the ground and the weak sunlight soothes Gerald’s neck under a pastel blue sky.

Life is good, sunrise is at hand (both Gerald’s and Gleespring’s favourite time of day), and the Dark Woods promise only adventure as they loom ahead!

Ah yes, the Dark Woods: Gerald’s daily trial and his daily triumph. Occasionally a group of brown moths will sit in a clearing towards the centre and Gerald will sit with them for a time. Their discussions vary (as is consistent with a moth’s nature) and conversations range far and wide, from the state of the weather to the latest cricket scores and the dangerous lures of a naked flame. They are an amicable group and Gerald looks forward to seeing them, and though they never ask him about his work he knows that they are all secretly interested.

This is but another daily game that good old Gerald plays.

But not today: today the ancient Oak is leaning northwards and the red stone is overturned, this can only mean that the grotesques are about.

With extra vigour Gleespring gallops along the narrow forest path, the overhead branches lean inwards creating a shadowy tunnel. The air is cooler now, untouched as yet by the sun’s rays; the breeze is invigorating as it whistles through Gerald’s visor and freshens his face.

Clods of dirt are thrown up behind the unicorn and the creature’s mane is tossed wildly from side to side. Without a doubt Gleespring shares Gerald’s passion for the early mornings and the ride to work.

Ahead a crude barricade of branches and stones has been thrown together to obstruct the way; in the shadows to either side nightmarish silhouettes crouch in waiting. The grotesques!

Gerald laughs aloud, a sound that emerges from his helmet as a strangely shrill cry; the grotesques, as they always do, interpret this as a mocking challenge and poise ready.

Red narrow eyes follow Gerald’s progress towards them, wicked spears are drawn back and thick black tongues lick thin slimy lips in anticipation.

It is all for nothing though, Gerald and Gleespring are well aware of the creatures (this is not the first time such an attack has been attempted, and nor is it likely to be the last); raising his sword high Gerald offers only defiance as the grotesques leap from their inadequate concealment.

Six of the creatures, mangy hairy critters that they are, spring towards Gerald with an energy belied by their crooked spines and sagging flesh. Long arms reach toward Gleespring’s throat as a brief rain of spears falls towards him.

The woods are filled with the sounds of the brutes grunting, the clashes of metal as spears are deflected by Gerald’s armour, and the snorting of an angry unicorn.

The battle is joined: Gerald’s sword flies hither and yon, dark green blood slaps against the bark of the trees; the grotesques shy away… to no avail!

Gleespring spins with an agility that easily matches his beauty; the unicorn’s horn pierces the neck of a grotesque and the blue hooves crash into another’s skull.

Into the woods the survivors flee, followed by the joyous laughter of contented old Gerald and his unicorn. Another triumph for Gerald; another defeat for the grotesques!

The Dark Woods are now far behind and the magical journey nears its end. The distant kingdom of Bushey has been reached!

Gerald dismounts in the usual secluded spot and bids fare-thee-well to his trusted mount.

As is the unicorn’s habit, Gleespring first transforms into a regular middle-aged donkey, and then into an old beat up Ford Focus parked beside the kerb.

Gerald opens the boot and removes his armour, carefully wiping the sword and breastplate clean before he places them inside.

Out of a frayed black rucksack Gerald takes a fresh shirt, a pair of well used trousers, and two well-worn black shoes.

With one longing glance at the Ford Focus, Gerald turns and heads into the office, showing his swipe card to the receptionist as he passes.

Old Gerald appears quite normal to his colleagues as he sits tapping away at his computer, but the smile in his mind never fades: outside, he knows, a “Ford Focus” is waiting for him and the journey home could be a fantastic mission!

Ah, well…. perhaps this is only a figment of the imagination after all, and commuting will forever be commuting.

But what if…