10-19-2019, 11:26 PM
One more to go
And, in theory, she should be the easiest to pass, half-blind as she is with the film of cataracts over her pale blue eyes. In the setting sun, her eyes are bleary and irritated, her eyelids lowered against the light and her cheeks damp with the tears that come unbidden, but she grazes stubbournly in spite of it, in spite of the red that stains her sclera. She stands like a blockade across the path of something unseen, unable to clearly see the way the grasses bend.
But, if she listens very carefully, she can hear the approach. And oh, she can smell it, whatever it is. Her nostrils flare and her breath is full of its odor, drawing the scent deep and, finally, curling a scarred lip in a snarl, yellowed teeth bared. Something sour and stale is standing nearby. Neverwhere snorts, sharp and loud, and she considers moving aside to let whatever magical beast is coming through go by, but she is disinclined to be pushed away from her grazing, especially when there is something almost familiar drifting below the scent of sickness. She lifts her head from the broad-leafed grasses, bits a of green poking through her lips, and swings her haunches away so that she faces where the invisible creature stands... roughly. She only guesses, really, since the sound of motion has died away and only the softest noise of breathing plays across sensitive half-ears.
"I'll admit, I don't usually care for magic, but if you look as bad as you smell, I guess it's alright this time."
As the last words leave her lips, the young mare flashes into view, and then away again, and Nev jerks her head to the left where a moment ago someone else had stood, a brief glimpse of staring golden coat, of black and blue, stark shadows where hip bones jut out. Nothing more than a sense of starvation and suffering and fear. Then, nothing, just the russet and gold of the autumn meadow burnished by the copper sunlight. The shadows have shifted further, their edges growing softer, blending into the twilight that hints in the valleys.
It is that smell of fear that catches at her, the half-remembered roll of white-rimmed eyes searching the middle-distance. For what? She frowns.
"Whatever is after you will smell you from miles away like a vulture following thermals," Neverwhere scolds, full of unasked-for advice, "And this flashing in and out is just drawing attention, even I can see you. Pick one and leave it."
@[Eyas]
And, in theory, she should be the easiest to pass, half-blind as she is with the film of cataracts over her pale blue eyes. In the setting sun, her eyes are bleary and irritated, her eyelids lowered against the light and her cheeks damp with the tears that come unbidden, but she grazes stubbournly in spite of it, in spite of the red that stains her sclera. She stands like a blockade across the path of something unseen, unable to clearly see the way the grasses bend.
But, if she listens very carefully, she can hear the approach. And oh, she can smell it, whatever it is. Her nostrils flare and her breath is full of its odor, drawing the scent deep and, finally, curling a scarred lip in a snarl, yellowed teeth bared. Something sour and stale is standing nearby. Neverwhere snorts, sharp and loud, and she considers moving aside to let whatever magical beast is coming through go by, but she is disinclined to be pushed away from her grazing, especially when there is something almost familiar drifting below the scent of sickness. She lifts her head from the broad-leafed grasses, bits a of green poking through her lips, and swings her haunches away so that she faces where the invisible creature stands... roughly. She only guesses, really, since the sound of motion has died away and only the softest noise of breathing plays across sensitive half-ears.
"I'll admit, I don't usually care for magic, but if you look as bad as you smell, I guess it's alright this time."
As the last words leave her lips, the young mare flashes into view, and then away again, and Nev jerks her head to the left where a moment ago someone else had stood, a brief glimpse of staring golden coat, of black and blue, stark shadows where hip bones jut out. Nothing more than a sense of starvation and suffering and fear. Then, nothing, just the russet and gold of the autumn meadow burnished by the copper sunlight. The shadows have shifted further, their edges growing softer, blending into the twilight that hints in the valleys.
It is that smell of fear that catches at her, the half-remembered roll of white-rimmed eyes searching the middle-distance. For what? She frowns.
"Whatever is after you will smell you from miles away like a vulture following thermals," Neverwhere scolds, full of unasked-for advice, "And this flashing in and out is just drawing attention, even I can see you. Pick one and leave it."
@[Eyas]
