06-17-2020, 09:18 AM
He calls her an unfit mother and the dappled mare laughs, a rough sound, dulled by the fog and forest. That is very likely true. In any case, she has no intention of arguing the point while standing over a frail, injured, newborn colt scrabbling the soft dirt with tender hooves in an attempt to upright himself, wincing at the pressure on his bruised ribs. Bright blue-green eyes are dulled by pain and confusion, unable to focus on the bird in the tree when they slide over its speckled breast. For half a second, the blurry shape of a second colt flickers into sight within the ring of duplicates, but it is weak and phases out again. He's too disoriented to carry the magic for long.
Neverwhere might argue Wolfbane's assertion that she is a greater danger to the boy than he is - there are worse things than death - but she does not do this either. Rather she at last turns away from the colt to watch the supernatural stillness of the raptor on the branch, with an expression of bored condescension.
"That is exactly my point, I'm so glad you understand. It's going to make this so much easier."
She pauses to turn back to the colt, head dropping low to brush the downy fuzz that covers his dislocated wing, much as she had before. This time, only her breath disturbs the young feathers, laying them flat with a warm gust of air. The boy responds with a pained nicker, reaching out to touch his nose to hers and chewing the air with toothless jaws. He's so small, so young, that he is driven more by instinct than memory, even of something that happened bare minutes ago.
"The point of a name, Wolfbane, is it makes it personal, doesn't it?" With her head lowered, one of the duplicates takes watch, fixing its gaze on the bird in silence, while the original mare touches her scarred lips to gold-dappled boy's perfect, velveteen, muzzle, hushing the soft clacking, "So, I'll call him Wherewolf."
Wherewolf. She already knows the looks she will get from others for that name, and has already decided she will ignore them completely.
"You will not come near me again, or he dies. You will not come to Nerine again or I will have Brennen snatch you up and then Wherewolf will die. Is that clear enough?"
Neverwhere might argue Wolfbane's assertion that she is a greater danger to the boy than he is - there are worse things than death - but she does not do this either. Rather she at last turns away from the colt to watch the supernatural stillness of the raptor on the branch, with an expression of bored condescension.
"That is exactly my point, I'm so glad you understand. It's going to make this so much easier."
She pauses to turn back to the colt, head dropping low to brush the downy fuzz that covers his dislocated wing, much as she had before. This time, only her breath disturbs the young feathers, laying them flat with a warm gust of air. The boy responds with a pained nicker, reaching out to touch his nose to hers and chewing the air with toothless jaws. He's so small, so young, that he is driven more by instinct than memory, even of something that happened bare minutes ago.
"The point of a name, Wolfbane, is it makes it personal, doesn't it?" With her head lowered, one of the duplicates takes watch, fixing its gaze on the bird in silence, while the original mare touches her scarred lips to gold-dappled boy's perfect, velveteen, muzzle, hushing the soft clacking, "So, I'll call him Wherewolf."
Wherewolf. She already knows the looks she will get from others for that name, and has already decided she will ignore them completely.
"You will not come near me again, or he dies. You will not come to Nerine again or I will have Brennen snatch you up and then Wherewolf will die. Is that clear enough?"
Neverwhere
This is the table equivalent of pajamas
@[Wolfbane]
