"Look" he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Henry, who pushed the arm away angrily before looking himself. Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer. It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and sad, it's long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves. Even his Father knew better than to hurt such a beautiful creature, especially one of pure innocence. It was a fully grown unicorn, Harry knew enough about them to know that; it was a shade of pure white that was so bright that it could make freshly fallen snow look grey in comparison, unicorn foals are born pure gold and remain so until they are about two years old at which time they start to change color to silver and steadily make their way to the white this one was. They also don't get their horns until around four years old, the one Harry was currently looking at was at the very least 7 years old, although no one knew for certain how long they lived for.