<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">In the light of early morning, both mares stand on the edge of the oasis, each resisting it's call. Neverwhere's head falls just above it, flared nostrils drawing deep breaths of air across its surface, wary, unsure. Water like this isn't always safe to drink, but there are few other choices now and the day breaks above them, the sun spilling over an endless sea of sand, banishing the brief chill of night.
In those bright beams of light, she barely sees the stallion approaching them, no doubt attracted by the water the same as they have been. That he hobbles and limps on an injured leg calls little sympathy to her heart, and that he seems to know Lilliana is not necessarily a point in his favor, either, but she considers him with an appraising eye and believes him to be unthreatening. She doesn't seem to hear Lilli introducing them, lost in thoughts of survival. She cannot be responsible for two ill and injured horses - plus herself - in this desert and already wonders what she could say to convince Lilli to leave him.
The answer of course, is nothing.
So that is what she says - nothing - and in the brief distraction of him, Neverwhere forgets her concern regarding the oasis. She falls under its spell and steps into it, wades into the night-cooled water until only her top-line remains exposed and sandy-yellow, and lets the sweat and sand fall away from her. She hears the chestnut mare reply unintelligibly to the stallion, and then she, too, is in the water, drinking deep.
It's growing foggy again, and that seems right. Neverwhere's world is almost always wrapped in clouds, so she does not question the ones that curl around her now, cool, ghostly tendrils that slip across her skin like silk. She is still standing next to Lilli, but the water is gone and the mares are alone, though only for a moment. The sound of hooves ringing on rock catches their ears, and then a scream. A name echoing, and then the crack of bone. Simultaneously, two mares tread a thin line with death, with life, and two mares watch and must choose.
Impossible to choose.
But they, Lilli and Neverwhere, need not condemn one to certain death, because they are together. They can save both - or they can try. Lilliana steps towards the golden mare crushed beneath a stallion's rage and Neverwhere cringes to see the pained expression on her friend's face, knows she is watching a different palomino be driven into the sand beneath unforgiving hooves. Her scarred muzzle rests against the red mare's shoulder.
"Be careful," <I>don't fight a fight you can't win.</I> She doesn't say it, knows it is advice Lilli could never follow. The bald-faced mare simply pulls away and enters the fog where the black mare jibbers and frets and hangs at the edge. Neverwhere's hooves are noisy on the rocks, their step measured and slow, testing the ground, giving time to feel for the wind billowing up, marking the cliff-edge that she cannot see. She feels the air in a tug of her eyelashes, of her whiskers, and knows she, too, is near death. Her lips curl into their familiar scowl in the face of it, in the understanding that she is risking her own life for this stranger. The black mare calls again and is answered only by dull echoes, absorbed into the fog, it becomes clear that whoever she is seeking will not be found here.
The dappled mare's voice, never soft, is buffered somewhat by that understanding when she reaches out to the dark shape looming ahead of her, her scarred muzzle pressing against a black shoulder as so recently it did to a red one. Their hooves dislodge tiny rocks that fall forever into the gulf below.
"If you take another step, the only thing you'll find is Death."
And, perhaps, that is what she wants. Perhaps Aida has died and the black mare is drowning in the madness of grief. Perhaps, if that is the case, Neverwhere and Lilliana should have chosen differently, because the dappled mare does not know the words to soothe such hurts, and she is not necessarily inclined to stop those who wish to die. But sometimes the thrill of the precipice is enough, there's a clarity that rests on the knife-edge of Finality.
"I won't try to stop you, if dying is what you want," she stands side-by-side with the unknown mare now, their tails twisting together in the wind, black and white, and looking blindly out at nothing. The clouds in her eyes and the clouds that surround them mingle to hide the world in smoke and shadow, "but there's no way to know that she or anyone else is waiting for you in the Afterlife, and won't you feel like a damn fool when you get there and there's nothing but Nothing?"
Is it wise to berate someone in this condition? Neverwhere has rarely been called wise, most who do call her that don't necessarily hold the notion for long.
"Come with me. If Aida can be found, I have a friend that can find her. And if she has been <I>harmed</I>, I bet I know someone who can do something about that, too. We will find out what happened, and when we <I>know</I>, if you still want to die after all that," Neverwhere shrugs, nonchalant, "Well, there's plenty of cliffs and fog in Nerine. Heck, I'll push you over myself, if you want."
It's hard to tell, in the moment, if she is serious with that last comment, but for now, she wraps her neck below the other mare's and pulls back, chin and jaw applying the lightest pressure to that dark, trembling, chest. Just enough pressure to tip the balance back from the very edge, enough to feel a frantic heartbeat and the shallow breath that grazes the mare's lungs. Neverwhere's own breath comes deep and relaxed, more calm than a blind mare standing above an abyss has any right to, yet it is, and she is, her voice a lazy drawl riding the leaden gloom around them
"My name is Neverwhere."
<div class="nev_name">Neverwhere</div><div class="nev_quote">...</div></div></center></div>
In those bright beams of light, she barely sees the stallion approaching them, no doubt attracted by the water the same as they have been. That he hobbles and limps on an injured leg calls little sympathy to her heart, and that he seems to know Lilliana is not necessarily a point in his favor, either, but she considers him with an appraising eye and believes him to be unthreatening. She doesn't seem to hear Lilli introducing them, lost in thoughts of survival. She cannot be responsible for two ill and injured horses - plus herself - in this desert and already wonders what she could say to convince Lilli to leave him.
The answer of course, is nothing.
So that is what she says - nothing - and in the brief distraction of him, Neverwhere forgets her concern regarding the oasis. She falls under its spell and steps into it, wades into the night-cooled water until only her top-line remains exposed and sandy-yellow, and lets the sweat and sand fall away from her. She hears the chestnut mare reply unintelligibly to the stallion, and then she, too, is in the water, drinking deep.
It's growing foggy again, and that seems right. Neverwhere's world is almost always wrapped in clouds, so she does not question the ones that curl around her now, cool, ghostly tendrils that slip across her skin like silk. She is still standing next to Lilli, but the water is gone and the mares are alone, though only for a moment. The sound of hooves ringing on rock catches their ears, and then a scream. A name echoing, and then the crack of bone. Simultaneously, two mares tread a thin line with death, with life, and two mares watch and must choose.
Impossible to choose.
But they, Lilli and Neverwhere, need not condemn one to certain death, because they are together. They can save both - or they can try. Lilliana steps towards the golden mare crushed beneath a stallion's rage and Neverwhere cringes to see the pained expression on her friend's face, knows she is watching a different palomino be driven into the sand beneath unforgiving hooves. Her scarred muzzle rests against the red mare's shoulder.
"Be careful," <I>don't fight a fight you can't win.</I> She doesn't say it, knows it is advice Lilli could never follow. The bald-faced mare simply pulls away and enters the fog where the black mare jibbers and frets and hangs at the edge. Neverwhere's hooves are noisy on the rocks, their step measured and slow, testing the ground, giving time to feel for the wind billowing up, marking the cliff-edge that she cannot see. She feels the air in a tug of her eyelashes, of her whiskers, and knows she, too, is near death. Her lips curl into their familiar scowl in the face of it, in the understanding that she is risking her own life for this stranger. The black mare calls again and is answered only by dull echoes, absorbed into the fog, it becomes clear that whoever she is seeking will not be found here.
The dappled mare's voice, never soft, is buffered somewhat by that understanding when she reaches out to the dark shape looming ahead of her, her scarred muzzle pressing against a black shoulder as so recently it did to a red one. Their hooves dislodge tiny rocks that fall forever into the gulf below.
"If you take another step, the only thing you'll find is Death."
And, perhaps, that is what she wants. Perhaps Aida has died and the black mare is drowning in the madness of grief. Perhaps, if that is the case, Neverwhere and Lilliana should have chosen differently, because the dappled mare does not know the words to soothe such hurts, and she is not necessarily inclined to stop those who wish to die. But sometimes the thrill of the precipice is enough, there's a clarity that rests on the knife-edge of Finality.
"I won't try to stop you, if dying is what you want," she stands side-by-side with the unknown mare now, their tails twisting together in the wind, black and white, and looking blindly out at nothing. The clouds in her eyes and the clouds that surround them mingle to hide the world in smoke and shadow, "but there's no way to know that she or anyone else is waiting for you in the Afterlife, and won't you feel like a damn fool when you get there and there's nothing but Nothing?"
Is it wise to berate someone in this condition? Neverwhere has rarely been called wise, most who do call her that don't necessarily hold the notion for long.
"Come with me. If Aida can be found, I have a friend that can find her. And if she has been <I>harmed</I>, I bet I know someone who can do something about that, too. We will find out what happened, and when we <I>know</I>, if you still want to die after all that," Neverwhere shrugs, nonchalant, "Well, there's plenty of cliffs and fog in Nerine. Heck, I'll push you over myself, if you want."
It's hard to tell, in the moment, if she is serious with that last comment, but for now, she wraps her neck below the other mare's and pulls back, chin and jaw applying the lightest pressure to that dark, trembling, chest. Just enough pressure to tip the balance back from the very edge, enough to feel a frantic heartbeat and the shallow breath that grazes the mare's lungs. Neverwhere's own breath comes deep and relaxed, more calm than a blind mare standing above an abyss has any right to, yet it is, and she is, her voice a lazy drawl riding the leaden gloom around them
"My name is Neverwhere."
<div class="nev_name">Neverwhere</div><div class="nev_quote">...</div></div></center></div>
