<div id="nev"><style type="text/css">.nev_container {background: transparent; width: 500px;border: 2px solid ; color: ; font: 14px 'Times New Roman', serif; padding: 15px;text-align: justify;box-shadow: inset 2 2 2px 2px #000;}.nev_name {text-align: center; color: #fff; font: 26px 'Times New Roman', serif; padding-top: 10px;padding-right: 10px;}.nev_quote {text-align: center; font-style: italic}</style><center><div class="nev_container">The mist is thin, and she does not pay much attention to it. There is often a mist that spreads across Nerine, blown off the sea until it spills over the cliffs again, back across the crashing expanse of salt water or into Taiga where it pools between the trees as thick as milk. The dappled mare ignores it, pretending that it does not gather in the corners of her eyes, that is does not steal away her vision. It drifts in streamers, growing thicker around her until, with a disgusted exhalation, Neverwhere leaves her place among the stony outcroppings at Nerine’s eastern arm, navigating the narrow pathways along the ledges with a bold precision that belies the anxiety bubbling velvet-soft in her chest. She beats it down with a deepening scowl and pinned ears, chasing away thoughts that Heartfire is rescinding the Sight she left behind in those pale eyes after that first day in the Meadow.
<I>She wouldn’t...
Well, she <B>might</B>.</I>
Magic is fickle, and so are those that wield it, but there would be no benefit in taking it back, so the silver dapple sheds that worry with a flick of her tail, the twisted strands catching in the wind that buffets against her mercilessly from the sea. Here, the mist should break apart in the rushing, swirling, air, but it doesn’t, instead growing more opaque and moving against the whirlwind gusts. Suddenly her anxieties return, licking at the back of her throat until the muscles of her jaw tense and tighten, wrinkling the skin of her two-tone cheek and adding a strange edge to the scowl she was already wearing. <I>Magic.</I> Within moments, she sees nothing, but blindness is nothing new to Neverwhere, she does not panic or run, but pauses to lift her head high with nostrils flaring and ears twisting, seeking scent and sound to find her bearings. There is nothing, not even the smell of salt in the fog, but the ground changes underfoot without her ever taking a step. Something soft and shifting, sliding against her frogs like snake-skin. If she did not know better, she might think that she had taken a wrong turn and landed on one of Nerine’s narrow beaches, but the sand underfoot is too dry, the air too warm. The mist breaks apart at last, unable to long withstand the beating, blazing, sun overhead.
“I’ve a feeling we’re not in Nerine anymore.” she says to no-one in particular. It’s more than a feeling, the fog may have burned away from the air, but it lives on in her eyes, creating clouds and halos and haze where they had not been moments before. This is <I>clearly</I> not Nerine, and she does not need to see to know it, to know that she has somehow ended up in a desert, and at mid-day. For a moment she stands still, casting about for a direction as she has done so many other times in her life. Pick a direction, any direction, so hard to know which is the right path to follow. The scent of water comes to her from some distance away, to the northwest, she thinks, but if it is within sight of a normal horse, it is hidden from her, gone in the glare. The wind picks up, sand stinging her flanks and she takes a step in the direction of that scent, heeding the call as the others before her have, but something stops her. Another scent. Somehow, a <I>familiar one,</I> and Neverwhere freezes, still as stone in the sun and the sand, head dropped low as she seeks it out.
There, to her left, the sand is disturbed, hoof prints, stumbling and confused. The scent of Lilliana lingers above them, just barely there, burning away in the heat. <I>Where… Where is she going?</I> Neverwhere turns her head again in the direction of the smell of water and shade, and then, with a sigh, turns away, squinting through the murk and tears of her sore eyes to find the erratic path her friend has travelled. Her ears lace back and she sets down on her haunches, slipping down the side of the dune with only a little more grace than the red mare who, by the looks of the golden sand, tumbled tip over tail the entire way down. At the base, a rock is stained dark with a splash of blood. The stifling heat has baked it dry but it smells strongly of Lilli, and whatever she cut on the sharp edge of it must have bled for some time because it leaves a trail across the desert, climbing many more dunes than could possibly have been necessary. At each place the chestnut mare fell, Neverwhere pauses and her concern begins to outgrow the grumbling irritation, ears once pinned now alert for any sound, but there is only the wind.
Only the wind… and then?
A voice across the open plain of golden nothing. Her eyes widen and the light floods them mercilessly, making the bald-faced mare wince and curse, but she ignores the tears that stream and stain her cheeks with porphyrin until they are red as old blood, ignores the sweat that froths at her neck and flanks, and grabs a swift trot to the top of one last dune. Down, down below, at the very base of it, a crumpled red figure in the sand, dark with sweat, and Neverwhere slips, slides, and at last throws herself to the small valley, pressing her nose to the wet and too-hot shoulder.
“Lilli...”
<I>Mama!</I> It catches her off-guard.
“No, Lilli, what?” She wants to bite her, to grab her in her teeth and shake sense into her, “Come on, I don’t know, but-- who?”
Lilli shivers and Neverwhere looks at her askance. Shivering in this heat. <I>No good, no good,</I> she thinks, pressing her head against the other mare’s flank, sour with sweat, and pushing against her until she begins to walk. <I>Go</I>. Around them, the wind is picking up, but it brings no relief. The sand stings her face, her eyes, she chokes on it, and there is a sense of something larger looming in the distance that she cannot see but for a growing darkness and a distant howling like wolves. Are there wolves in this desert? Not knowing makes her angry but Lilli calls her Mama again and Neverwhere bites back her aggravation, brow creased with worry, takes a breath. Not wolves - wolves don’t bring darkness like this - <I>a storm.</I> But not one with rain, as the sun is blotted out she blinks away the worst of the haze and sees the windstorm coming, the dark wall of sand. Her stomach sinks and Lilliana falls again, unaware of the exact nature of their danger. Not far away, an overhang of rock projects from the shifting terrain and as the chestnut regains her feet, Nev guides her to it, presses in against her with tails turned against the wind while the storm rages dark and wild overhead.
There is nothing to do but choke on the dust and sand, the shelter is meager, but enough. Lilli whispers a name and shudders, pressing close, and Neverwhere wonders idly at the coincidence of Frostbane and Wolfbane.
“It’ll be over soon, Lilli. Go to sleep.”
She doesn’t know when she falls asleep herself. It is after the storm has finally passed over them and the moaning winds have died down, but she knows she cannot face that bright sun again, and certainly not with Lilli in this state. She will have to dig for water in the morning, she thinks, and then she blinks and it <I>is</I> morning, so early the sun is no more than a pink glow in the east. Lilliana watches her with a peculiar expression and Neverwhere smirks through the stiff pain of the sunburn on her face.
“Are you back?” her voice is coarse as a raven’s, “I’m sorry, I’m not your mother.”
In the early glow of dawn, the smell of water and vegetation is on the air. The oasis. It must be near, but it could be poisoned for all she knows, and she has enough strength still to dig. Neverwhere pauses and feels that tug, that first pull that she had felt yesterday. It seems like a year ago already, but the draw remains.
<I>Come.</I>
And so they do, traveling wordlessly until they reach it, and then standing like tawny ghosts at its edge.
<div class="nev_name">Neverwhere</div><div class="nev_quote">...</div></div></center></div>
<I>She wouldn’t...
Well, she <B>might</B>.</I>
Magic is fickle, and so are those that wield it, but there would be no benefit in taking it back, so the silver dapple sheds that worry with a flick of her tail, the twisted strands catching in the wind that buffets against her mercilessly from the sea. Here, the mist should break apart in the rushing, swirling, air, but it doesn’t, instead growing more opaque and moving against the whirlwind gusts. Suddenly her anxieties return, licking at the back of her throat until the muscles of her jaw tense and tighten, wrinkling the skin of her two-tone cheek and adding a strange edge to the scowl she was already wearing. <I>Magic.</I> Within moments, she sees nothing, but blindness is nothing new to Neverwhere, she does not panic or run, but pauses to lift her head high with nostrils flaring and ears twisting, seeking scent and sound to find her bearings. There is nothing, not even the smell of salt in the fog, but the ground changes underfoot without her ever taking a step. Something soft and shifting, sliding against her frogs like snake-skin. If she did not know better, she might think that she had taken a wrong turn and landed on one of Nerine’s narrow beaches, but the sand underfoot is too dry, the air too warm. The mist breaks apart at last, unable to long withstand the beating, blazing, sun overhead.
“I’ve a feeling we’re not in Nerine anymore.” she says to no-one in particular. It’s more than a feeling, the fog may have burned away from the air, but it lives on in her eyes, creating clouds and halos and haze where they had not been moments before. This is <I>clearly</I> not Nerine, and she does not need to see to know it, to know that she has somehow ended up in a desert, and at mid-day. For a moment she stands still, casting about for a direction as she has done so many other times in her life. Pick a direction, any direction, so hard to know which is the right path to follow. The scent of water comes to her from some distance away, to the northwest, she thinks, but if it is within sight of a normal horse, it is hidden from her, gone in the glare. The wind picks up, sand stinging her flanks and she takes a step in the direction of that scent, heeding the call as the others before her have, but something stops her. Another scent. Somehow, a <I>familiar one,</I> and Neverwhere freezes, still as stone in the sun and the sand, head dropped low as she seeks it out.
There, to her left, the sand is disturbed, hoof prints, stumbling and confused. The scent of Lilliana lingers above them, just barely there, burning away in the heat. <I>Where… Where is she going?</I> Neverwhere turns her head again in the direction of the smell of water and shade, and then, with a sigh, turns away, squinting through the murk and tears of her sore eyes to find the erratic path her friend has travelled. Her ears lace back and she sets down on her haunches, slipping down the side of the dune with only a little more grace than the red mare who, by the looks of the golden sand, tumbled tip over tail the entire way down. At the base, a rock is stained dark with a splash of blood. The stifling heat has baked it dry but it smells strongly of Lilli, and whatever she cut on the sharp edge of it must have bled for some time because it leaves a trail across the desert, climbing many more dunes than could possibly have been necessary. At each place the chestnut mare fell, Neverwhere pauses and her concern begins to outgrow the grumbling irritation, ears once pinned now alert for any sound, but there is only the wind.
Only the wind… and then?
A voice across the open plain of golden nothing. Her eyes widen and the light floods them mercilessly, making the bald-faced mare wince and curse, but she ignores the tears that stream and stain her cheeks with porphyrin until they are red as old blood, ignores the sweat that froths at her neck and flanks, and grabs a swift trot to the top of one last dune. Down, down below, at the very base of it, a crumpled red figure in the sand, dark with sweat, and Neverwhere slips, slides, and at last throws herself to the small valley, pressing her nose to the wet and too-hot shoulder.
“Lilli...”
<I>Mama!</I> It catches her off-guard.
“No, Lilli, what?” She wants to bite her, to grab her in her teeth and shake sense into her, “Come on, I don’t know, but-- who?”
Lilli shivers and Neverwhere looks at her askance. Shivering in this heat. <I>No good, no good,</I> she thinks, pressing her head against the other mare’s flank, sour with sweat, and pushing against her until she begins to walk. <I>Go</I>. Around them, the wind is picking up, but it brings no relief. The sand stings her face, her eyes, she chokes on it, and there is a sense of something larger looming in the distance that she cannot see but for a growing darkness and a distant howling like wolves. Are there wolves in this desert? Not knowing makes her angry but Lilli calls her Mama again and Neverwhere bites back her aggravation, brow creased with worry, takes a breath. Not wolves - wolves don’t bring darkness like this - <I>a storm.</I> But not one with rain, as the sun is blotted out she blinks away the worst of the haze and sees the windstorm coming, the dark wall of sand. Her stomach sinks and Lilliana falls again, unaware of the exact nature of their danger. Not far away, an overhang of rock projects from the shifting terrain and as the chestnut regains her feet, Nev guides her to it, presses in against her with tails turned against the wind while the storm rages dark and wild overhead.
There is nothing to do but choke on the dust and sand, the shelter is meager, but enough. Lilli whispers a name and shudders, pressing close, and Neverwhere wonders idly at the coincidence of Frostbane and Wolfbane.
“It’ll be over soon, Lilli. Go to sleep.”
She doesn’t know when she falls asleep herself. It is after the storm has finally passed over them and the moaning winds have died down, but she knows she cannot face that bright sun again, and certainly not with Lilli in this state. She will have to dig for water in the morning, she thinks, and then she blinks and it <I>is</I> morning, so early the sun is no more than a pink glow in the east. Lilliana watches her with a peculiar expression and Neverwhere smirks through the stiff pain of the sunburn on her face.
“Are you back?” her voice is coarse as a raven’s, “I’m sorry, I’m not your mother.”
In the early glow of dawn, the smell of water and vegetation is on the air. The oasis. It must be near, but it could be poisoned for all she knows, and she has enough strength still to dig. Neverwhere pauses and feels that tug, that first pull that she had felt yesterday. It seems like a year ago already, but the draw remains.
<I>Come.</I>
And so they do, traveling wordlessly until they reach it, and then standing like tawny ghosts at its edge.
<div class="nev_name">Neverwhere</div><div class="nev_quote">...</div></div></center></div>
