Claude Monet Blue Water Lilies painting

Claude Monet Blue Water Lilies paintingClaude Monet Banks of the Seine paintingClaude Monet Bank of the Seine Vetheuil painting
halfmoon marks where the sbars had bitten him. "But you could never have granted my true wish."
There it is, the unicorn thought, feeling the first spidery touch of sorrow on the inside of her skin. That is how it will be to travel with a mortal, all the time. "No," she replied. "I cannot turn you into something you are not, no more than the witch could. I cannot turn you into a true magician."
"I didn't think so," Schmendrick said. "It's all right. Don't worry about it."
"I'm not worrying about it," the unicorn said.
A blue jay swooped low over them on that first day of their journey, said, "Well, I'll be a squab under glass," and flapped straight tell his wife about it. She was sitting on the nest, singing to their children in a dreary drone.
"Spiders and sowbugs and beetles and crickets, Slugs from the roses and ticks from the thickets, Grasshoppers, snails, and a quail's egg or two— All to be regurgitated for you. Lullaby, lullaby, swindles and schemes, Flying's not near as much fun as it seems."
"Saw a unicorn today," the blue jay said as he lit.