06-21-2020, 10:02 AM
She does not know when Wolfbane will try to come north again, but she suspects that he will, that he will try to test the boundaries she has put in place, if only to prove that she cannot control him. But it is not him she is trying to control, rather it is her home that needs the protection, it is Lilliana and her children. Neverwhere's own child naps in the late summer sun without a care, flat out to soak in every ounce of sun offered by their shortened season. If, when he comes, he will come for Wherewolf, the silvered mare is uncertain. The name had made him furious and the memory makes the corners of her lips quirk upwards ever so slightly. Not quite enough to be noticeable against the downward pull of those sun-poisoned scars, but there is a subtle lightening to her usual scowl.
With Wherewolf asleep, she wanders, and her mind wanders along with her. Djinni healed the last of her wounds, the pierced shoulder with hardly a pucker and the delicate pink scar tissue criss-crossing her barrel thickening, darkening, so it does not tear as she navigates the rocky terrain, or when she rolls or rubs against the cliff walls. Her winter coat is coming in, thick and plush, and there are more than a few white hairs growing among the dark ones where the follicles are not simply too damaged to support any growth at all.
Although not given to vanity, Neverwhere hopes the hair does not all come in white and leave her striped like a baby tapir.
Scarred and striped, at first glance she looks more like the battle hardened warrior Scorch insists will come, but look beyond those things and they will see she does not have the muscling of a fighter. Travel, and enduring, built and shaped her features. Her pale eyes flicker over both mares when she happens on them unexpectedly, finds the haunting familiarity in their faces - this shape of ear, that curve of jaw - and she pauses to study them unabashedly before addressing the hairless, burnt, mare.
"Well, who the hell did you piss off? You look like a boar after Ghaul's been at it."
Not the promised diplomat, either.
With Wherewolf asleep, she wanders, and her mind wanders along with her. Djinni healed the last of her wounds, the pierced shoulder with hardly a pucker and the delicate pink scar tissue criss-crossing her barrel thickening, darkening, so it does not tear as she navigates the rocky terrain, or when she rolls or rubs against the cliff walls. Her winter coat is coming in, thick and plush, and there are more than a few white hairs growing among the dark ones where the follicles are not simply too damaged to support any growth at all.
Although not given to vanity, Neverwhere hopes the hair does not all come in white and leave her striped like a baby tapir.
Scarred and striped, at first glance she looks more like the battle hardened warrior Scorch insists will come, but look beyond those things and they will see she does not have the muscling of a fighter. Travel, and enduring, built and shaped her features. Her pale eyes flicker over both mares when she happens on them unexpectedly, finds the haunting familiarity in their faces - this shape of ear, that curve of jaw - and she pauses to study them unabashedly before addressing the hairless, burnt, mare.
"Well, who the hell did you piss off? You look like a boar after Ghaul's been at it."
Not the promised diplomat, either.
Neverwhere
This is the table equivalent of pajamas
@[Scorch]
