11-17-2019, 12:51 AM
Grandson?
This is not where she expected the conversation to go, and for a moment, the silence that reigns is a bemused one. The word falls on her without much meaning at first, and maybe it shouldn't catch her so off guard because she has not met very many horses at all, in spite of her wandering. Wolfbane comes back to her like a biting fly and her scarred face becomes a scowl. Oh, yes. The memory of meeting him in the Taigan woods is surprisingly clear, despite the shock of blindness overcoming her again, the memory of his melting out of the fog and shadow, entirely too feline for her liking from the start. The memory of the fondness that Lilliana had tried to hide, had tried to disguise as no more than her usual friendliness that she shares with everyone - if the dappled mare had been a hundred times more blind she would still have seen straight through that paltry effort, and no more inclined to think the striped stallion worthy of the least of her friend's favors. She responds sharply, ignoring the question of how Heartfire knows that she met him at all.
"I told my friend to get the hell out of Taiga, but apparently she needs to learn the hard way."
She talks around the question, forgoing her usual bluntness with the knowledge that there is no subtlety to her body language. Knowing that Lilliana ran straight back to his clutches after disappearing into the Forest for so short a time fills her with concern, and the concern becomes anger, dark and boiling in her belly, gall rising at the back of her throat. Even if she weren't already wearing that sneer on her lips, the scars will always give her away, pink turning to mottled red in a rush of heated irritation.
It's possible that it is unwise to speak in this way to the spotted roan. Another horse might approach the subject more delicately, more diplomatically, she is his grandmother. Some might think she is being stubborn and jumping to conclusions, others might counsel care. The silver dapple is not concerned with either of these opinions. Instead, Neverwhere wears her dislike of him like a robe and makes no more attempt to hide it from Heartfire than she did from Wolfbane himself. Her half-ears twist back, the scowl giving way to the shadow of a smile.
"I do not think he cared for me very much."
This is not where she expected the conversation to go, and for a moment, the silence that reigns is a bemused one. The word falls on her without much meaning at first, and maybe it shouldn't catch her so off guard because she has not met very many horses at all, in spite of her wandering. Wolfbane comes back to her like a biting fly and her scarred face becomes a scowl. Oh, yes. The memory of meeting him in the Taigan woods is surprisingly clear, despite the shock of blindness overcoming her again, the memory of his melting out of the fog and shadow, entirely too feline for her liking from the start. The memory of the fondness that Lilliana had tried to hide, had tried to disguise as no more than her usual friendliness that she shares with everyone - if the dappled mare had been a hundred times more blind she would still have seen straight through that paltry effort, and no more inclined to think the striped stallion worthy of the least of her friend's favors. She responds sharply, ignoring the question of how Heartfire knows that she met him at all.
"I told my friend to get the hell out of Taiga, but apparently she needs to learn the hard way."
She talks around the question, forgoing her usual bluntness with the knowledge that there is no subtlety to her body language. Knowing that Lilliana ran straight back to his clutches after disappearing into the Forest for so short a time fills her with concern, and the concern becomes anger, dark and boiling in her belly, gall rising at the back of her throat. Even if she weren't already wearing that sneer on her lips, the scars will always give her away, pink turning to mottled red in a rush of heated irritation.
It's possible that it is unwise to speak in this way to the spotted roan. Another horse might approach the subject more delicately, more diplomatically, she is his grandmother. Some might think she is being stubborn and jumping to conclusions, others might counsel care. The silver dapple is not concerned with either of these opinions. Instead, Neverwhere wears her dislike of him like a robe and makes no more attempt to hide it from Heartfire than she did from Wolfbane himself. Her half-ears twist back, the scowl giving way to the shadow of a smile.
"I do not think he cared for me very much."
Neverwhere
...
