12-16-2019, 04:59 PM
To the strength of the kingdom, the dappled mare cannot speak. It has been quiet and not obviously well-populated for some time, and from a political aspect, that may not be ideal, but this has rarely been a concern for her. It seems like a problem for Heartfire to resolve, if she wishes. There are many reasons that the previous residents may have fled, the Plague that was healed before Neverwhere arrived, or perhaps they couldn't stand the frigid, windy, winters that scoured the land. Maybe they couldn't stand Heartfire. That seemed possible, it required a certain sensibility to appreciate her moods, one that - inexplicably - Neverwhere seemed to have. Some residents were Sleepers; somewhere, you could find traces of them, but as hard to catch as the fog drifting through to other shores.
It made a certain poetic sense that the wind-beaten grassland would breed a strong people. It didn't go without saying, life is as often not as poetic as one might prefer, but it rings true enough that the residents of Nerine might be like the weathered cliffs, tough and hardy creatures, stubborn, and strong and sure-footed. If that was the case, it's unlikely that they were driven away by Heartfire, it seems hard to believe they would be driven out at all. They have simply evaporated.
Her visitor bristles under her casual insult and Neverwhere almost grins, letting both ears turn forward as the other mare shakes her head, throwing away her irritation like water from her mane.
Or like mud.
And when Eurwen speaks again, there is gravel in her voice, though it scrapes under the same weary softness of before. History? Neverwhere has never been a historian, she has not sought out the past, if anything she has tried to leave it behind, but these are new days, new times. She's also never been interested in having a home, before, or in having friends, so she relents a bit before the irritated spots, lets her scowl fall away. Because, who knows?
"Maybe I am, today. The history of what?"
It made a certain poetic sense that the wind-beaten grassland would breed a strong people. It didn't go without saying, life is as often not as poetic as one might prefer, but it rings true enough that the residents of Nerine might be like the weathered cliffs, tough and hardy creatures, stubborn, and strong and sure-footed. If that was the case, it's unlikely that they were driven away by Heartfire, it seems hard to believe they would be driven out at all. They have simply evaporated.
Her visitor bristles under her casual insult and Neverwhere almost grins, letting both ears turn forward as the other mare shakes her head, throwing away her irritation like water from her mane.
Or like mud.
And when Eurwen speaks again, there is gravel in her voice, though it scrapes under the same weary softness of before. History? Neverwhere has never been a historian, she has not sought out the past, if anything she has tried to leave it behind, but these are new days, new times. She's also never been interested in having a home, before, or in having friends, so she relents a bit before the irritated spots, lets her scowl fall away. Because, who knows?
"Maybe I am, today. The history of what?"
Neverwhere
...
