05-24-2020, 10:25 PM
Midday comes as Neverwhere crosses the border into Taiga, already the trees are tall and thick enough to blink out the sun, but the towering forest is bright with bird song. The redwood kings are awesome, but she does not have time to take in their wonder, and the dappled colt skipping at her heels is so small that even the ferns are enormous to him. He trips and gambols through the undergrowth, crying out occasionally when it becomes too dense and tangles his legs. The white-faced mare is trying to move quickly and without notice, and neither his small outbursts nor the way he splinters into two noisy colts when he is surprised, or startled, or angry, are conducive to her plan.
She presses forward stubbornly and he somehow keeps up, though his thin sides heave with the effort and his awkward, long, legs grow tired, and sooner rather than later she is forced to stop when he stumbles even over bare ground. With one last glance northwards and an exasperated sigh, she turns back to the boy panting in the soft, loamy earth. She comes to stand over him, pink muzzle running the small length of his body, and though he is weary, he is undamaged from the hard pace.
Her ears flick back and her expression sours. Last year she found Amarine alone and brought her home this same way and the girl never faltered, but she had been older, and probably she had been sensitive to that unforgiving place in Neverwhere’s heart that makes her consider killing the boy resting peacefully at her feet. She had, after all, considered the same with the jewel-eyed filly, though there had been more reason then than she can summon now. What she considers now is that the shadows in Taiga are never as empty as they seem, they are alive and watching, and it makes her skin jump to think about. Her teeth, bared briefly, snap together and she lifts her head, ears pinning flat as she casts about for anyone who may be watching.
Someone is.
She can feel the weight of their gaze.
She presses forward stubbornly and he somehow keeps up, though his thin sides heave with the effort and his awkward, long, legs grow tired, and sooner rather than later she is forced to stop when he stumbles even over bare ground. With one last glance northwards and an exasperated sigh, she turns back to the boy panting in the soft, loamy earth. She comes to stand over him, pink muzzle running the small length of his body, and though he is weary, he is undamaged from the hard pace.
Her ears flick back and her expression sours. Last year she found Amarine alone and brought her home this same way and the girl never faltered, but she had been older, and probably she had been sensitive to that unforgiving place in Neverwhere’s heart that makes her consider killing the boy resting peacefully at her feet. She had, after all, considered the same with the jewel-eyed filly, though there had been more reason then than she can summon now. What she considers now is that the shadows in Taiga are never as empty as they seem, they are alive and watching, and it makes her skin jump to think about. Her teeth, bared briefly, snap together and she lifts her head, ears pinning flat as she casts about for anyone who may be watching.
Someone is.
She can feel the weight of their gaze.
@[Wolfbane] this is happening before she gets back to Nerine because time is an illusion
