08-07-2019, 11:50 AM
Neverwhere’s head dips in the smallest acknowledgement, and she bends her feet toward the river, turning away from the arcs of golden light slicing through the forest, and heading towards dusk. There is no direct way to the river, it is mostly deerpaths, sometimes narrow, sometimes barely noticeable, only the slightest interruption of undergrowth, so that the mares must walk single file, and even then the thin branches of witch-hazel and serviceberry caress their hides. Tangled hawthorn branches catch and scratch. Leading, Neverwhere takes the worst in these instances, and though the welts across her chest go ignored, she becomes frustrated when a bough tangles in her tail, snapping across her flanks with each irritated flick.
One ear is turned and following Lilliana’s voice, although she does not answer right away. Instead, she is concentrating on the path before her which is bathed in deepening shadow, making navigation difficult. Neverwhere travels largely by intuition and instinct, her other ear strained forward where the faintest trace of rushing water beckons, and nose full of the gray-green smell of water. When at last the trail widens again and conversation is easier, she falls back a touch so that the chestnut draws up to her shoulder.
“All the same sort are out during the night as the day,” she says, with a bit of a shrug. She shouldn’t be so dismissive of the other mare’s fear, it is often something out of an individual’s control, but her own world-view has come to her so differently. “They like to tell stories about monsters in the night to scare children, but most of that kind are easy to avoid, or don’t exist at all.” Neverwhere pauses, she means to be comforting, and suspects she is not, “It’s easier to let your imagination run away in the darkness, though...”
And easier to take for granted that what you see in the light of day is the truth. If anybody’s imagination would stampede off with them in the night, it must surely be Lilli’s. Perhaps it is the dappled mare’s ruined vision that has inured her to that, to some extent. Much of her life is blurred or dark already, except for the rare good day, so if she were given to flights of fancy, she’d always be jumpy and spooking. She is quiet and contemplative for a few yards, listening to the growing sounds of river-water tumbling over itself, churning on its rocky bed, and when she does speak again, has changed the topic entirely.
“It’s getting pretty dark, do you think you can lead the way from here?" Even in the darkness, Neverwhere could find her way alone, picking her feet perhaps a little higher than need be to avoid the roots she cannot see, but it would be easier to follow another, an option she rarely has the opportunity to take advantage of.
"It's been quite a while since I let someone else choose my path for me, and about as long since I’ve felt at home anywhere. Not since I left my family’s territory in the high desert, but,” she adds, with a hint of dry amusement, “I certainly don’t have anywhere else to be.” Why not the river? She has no home and no aim, and she could use a drink.
One ear is turned and following Lilliana’s voice, although she does not answer right away. Instead, she is concentrating on the path before her which is bathed in deepening shadow, making navigation difficult. Neverwhere travels largely by intuition and instinct, her other ear strained forward where the faintest trace of rushing water beckons, and nose full of the gray-green smell of water. When at last the trail widens again and conversation is easier, she falls back a touch so that the chestnut draws up to her shoulder.
“All the same sort are out during the night as the day,” she says, with a bit of a shrug. She shouldn’t be so dismissive of the other mare’s fear, it is often something out of an individual’s control, but her own world-view has come to her so differently. “They like to tell stories about monsters in the night to scare children, but most of that kind are easy to avoid, or don’t exist at all.” Neverwhere pauses, she means to be comforting, and suspects she is not, “It’s easier to let your imagination run away in the darkness, though...”
And easier to take for granted that what you see in the light of day is the truth. If anybody’s imagination would stampede off with them in the night, it must surely be Lilli’s. Perhaps it is the dappled mare’s ruined vision that has inured her to that, to some extent. Much of her life is blurred or dark already, except for the rare good day, so if she were given to flights of fancy, she’d always be jumpy and spooking. She is quiet and contemplative for a few yards, listening to the growing sounds of river-water tumbling over itself, churning on its rocky bed, and when she does speak again, has changed the topic entirely.
“It’s getting pretty dark, do you think you can lead the way from here?" Even in the darkness, Neverwhere could find her way alone, picking her feet perhaps a little higher than need be to avoid the roots she cannot see, but it would be easier to follow another, an option she rarely has the opportunity to take advantage of.
"It's been quite a while since I let someone else choose my path for me, and about as long since I’ve felt at home anywhere. Not since I left my family’s territory in the high desert, but,” she adds, with a hint of dry amusement, “I certainly don’t have anywhere else to be.” Why not the river? She has no home and no aim, and she could use a drink.
Neverwhere
.........
Nover needs a drink lol
we can pick this up at the river if you want
@[lilliana]
