All things want to open. [any]

[Neverwhere]

There is a special irony in the fact that Neverwhere, with her somewhat impaired vision, would go on any long journey at all, would ever leave familiar grounds, and, to some, there might be a romance in the idea that she eschews the old, worn paths of her childhood and trips her way to distant horizons. She could, if she thought about it for a moment, understand where those others would get that idea, but the reality of things is less appealing. She has ignored or not seen a great many things, both dangerous and beautiful, and, yes, there are other senses to navigate by, she can hear perfectly well, and smell, and her feet are sensitive to certain vibrations in the earth and changes to the footing. It is less, though. It is not the same to say that she has smelled the rain and lightning of oncoming storms or heard the sunset, the clamor of birds going to roost just before the sun sets, and the sudden hush as it does, before the activity of night begins in soft flutters and squeaks. These are things all the horses can do, but those with lesser visual capabilities must and will therefore apply greater scrutiny. Of course, Neverwhere still sees well enough to know the light is changing, but, someday, perhaps, she may not. It is hard to say if this gradual decline is better, or worse.

“Yes, there are other senses, they are no different from any other horse’s, only I have to pay a bit more attention to them,” she replies, ear flicking back and forth as though to emphasize the point. Movement deep in the woods has caught her attention, soft paws padding through the leaves and loam. Hell hound, wolf, or coyote, it can be hard to tell the difference, at first. They can each move singly or in packs and be a threat – or not – with an annoying unpredictability. One ear remains trained on the sound behind her, but these are not the sounds of hunting animals.

Neverwhere, out of habit, turns her body broadside, presenting haunches and hard hooves against the direction of the sounds, as if this would deter attack. It was always possible, running into predators in the woods. This is their territory, not hers, so it makes it an unusual choice of places for horses to linger in conversation, regardless of whether or not they can see. Their meeting has lasted long enough for the sun to begin dipping low in the sky and the dappled daylight has become long orange beams cutting between the trees and lengthening shadows.

“Well, I’m not interested in war, so that leaves us with a plague then. How would we start that?” She has already started walking, though not hurriedly, she is in no rush to be anywhere, only ready to be moving on.

Neverwhere

.........

@[lilliana]