The rain fell on the world. It had been falling for some time, and still nothing happened. Around the plain, animals lay, and waited out the storm. The trees felt the rain too, and lapped up its life giving wetness. The hills in the distance shimmered as the rain fell. Slowly the rain fall eased, but after an hour or so, the storm returned, this time bringing thunder. It had been like this for a week, and the rivers were rising.
Suddenly a sound from the sky made the animals on the plain look around. There was nothing to see at first, and then a fiery object came through the clouds. As it fell a loud screach swept over the land. As it came, the grasses bent, water rippled and animals fled. All they knew was that the sound was wrong. It wasn't something they understood and they should leave.
For a moment, the sound stopped. Then an explosion ripped out the heart of the of the mountains, laying waste to miles of land around it. The rain kept falling.
A few days later, the animals began to return to the plain, now littered with stones, some of which glowed in the dark and provided a light by which they could see at night. Not understanding, they kept their distance from these and the stream which had now turned a dull red as it left the crater that remained of the mountain. Still the rain fell. They pasture that they had left had become brown and even the trees looked as if they were dying after the impact.
One group of the animals knew was that there was no way they could feed here, in this dead place. They left for the sea, where they could follow the coast for more food. This island was only one of many, but the mountain dominated the plains at its centre. Without the grazing land on the plane, life would be hard. As they searched for more food, predators in the regions unknown to them reduced their numbers. Weak and hungry, the group came to a small meadow which was seemingly untouched by the devestation they had left behind. Here, they rested, fed and hoped to make their home.
Not long after, some of the group began to be ill. Their hooves became painful to stand on, they throats burned, and their vision blurred. Burn marks appeared on their bodies, as if they had been caught in a forest fire. The hair on their manes fell out and their tails lost their hair. The group remained in the meadow, not knowing what to do, as slowly their numbers dwindled. What had become of the idilic life they had known ? An act of god had forced them from the fertile plains, and to this place, and now they were dying. Some died quickly, others took days, but soon there was only one left. The last animal looked down at his friend and wept, even as his temperature rose and he knew that there would be no more. As it had with the others, his majestic horn fell from his head and he lay down to die.
And so, on an isolated island the last unicorn died.