05-17-2020, 12:30 PM
Silence reigns between them, and Neverwhere recognizes a challenge when she doesn't hear it. Her approach slows to a halt at a cautious distance, her body angled slightly away. Of course a predator such as this can afford the relaxed stance, but the dappled mare does not copy it, haunches bunched and ice blue eyes running over that slick black body as if memorizing each distorted detail.
There have been many strange horses entering her world lately and this may be one of the strangest to see. Still, as with Ghaul, she feels some relief in seeing a creature with its magic so openly displayed across its body. Something has made this one Other, but it is obvious, and though the earth-brown mare still has difficulty accepting magic, she finds this sort more acceptable, no matter how badly contorted and misshapen. At least it's honest.
(That those other magics hidden away are frequently not in and of themselves harmful is cold comfort. Neverwhere prefers to know what she is up against from the outset, she does not want to poke and prod and tease the secrets out.)
They seem to try to out-wait one another, each mare boldly examining the other, one with a head tilted like a puppy built by a mad-man, and the other scowling softly as if the puppy had gifted her something unpleasant. Although Neverwhere had spent several years on her own wandering blindly, she has learned that most of those she runs into will fall into the usual habits of conversation when in the company of others, and she has, at times, attempted poorly to mimic that behavior like a parrot. That this mare keeps her tongue is at once relieving and perplexing, and reminds her of earlier days, staring out at the ocean with Heartfire when it was only the two of them in Nerine.
And she wonders, briefly, how Heartfire would feel about that comparison.
Most likely, she would not be offended.
At last, the silver dapple relents. Her posture changes - her tail dropping, her head lowering from its wary height - she comes closer, wordlessly, close enough to reach out and touch, and if there is hesitation written plainly across her face, there should be little wonder in it. Whatever has influenced the alien-mare's shape is one made purely for the kill, and though that hard gem of curiousity Neverwhere keeps buried deep under layers of cynicism and arrogance is burning brightly, she is not foolish enough to forget it.
She is not afraid of death, but she would prefer to avoid it.
There have been many strange horses entering her world lately and this may be one of the strangest to see. Still, as with Ghaul, she feels some relief in seeing a creature with its magic so openly displayed across its body. Something has made this one Other, but it is obvious, and though the earth-brown mare still has difficulty accepting magic, she finds this sort more acceptable, no matter how badly contorted and misshapen. At least it's honest.
(That those other magics hidden away are frequently not in and of themselves harmful is cold comfort. Neverwhere prefers to know what she is up against from the outset, she does not want to poke and prod and tease the secrets out.)
They seem to try to out-wait one another, each mare boldly examining the other, one with a head tilted like a puppy built by a mad-man, and the other scowling softly as if the puppy had gifted her something unpleasant. Although Neverwhere had spent several years on her own wandering blindly, she has learned that most of those she runs into will fall into the usual habits of conversation when in the company of others, and she has, at times, attempted poorly to mimic that behavior like a parrot. That this mare keeps her tongue is at once relieving and perplexing, and reminds her of earlier days, staring out at the ocean with Heartfire when it was only the two of them in Nerine.
And she wonders, briefly, how Heartfire would feel about that comparison.
Most likely, she would not be offended.
At last, the silver dapple relents. Her posture changes - her tail dropping, her head lowering from its wary height - she comes closer, wordlessly, close enough to reach out and touch, and if there is hesitation written plainly across her face, there should be little wonder in it. Whatever has influenced the alien-mare's shape is one made purely for the kill, and though that hard gem of curiousity Neverwhere keeps buried deep under layers of cynicism and arrogance is burning brightly, she is not foolish enough to forget it.
She is not afraid of death, but she would prefer to avoid it.
@[Fiorina]
