She's got the devil's eyes
The woman before her might believe her lot in life nothing more than mere bad luck, but Heartfire does not. Oh, she does believe in luck. Certainly it’s existence has made itself abundantly clear to her. But luck, or lack thereof, is not what she is witnessing here.
No, it’s complacency. An evitable acquiescence to the weight of the world this stranger had made for herself.
Luck might not be something one controls, but the way in which one responds to it certainly is. Still, Heartfire had always had a strong interest in all walks of life, be they large or small. True, it’s often due to the ways in which they might somehow aid or benefit her, but she has never claimed to be a selfless woman. And though she’s not certain her acquaintanceship with Neverwhere would ever prove beneficial, the possibility is there. And for the moment, that is enough.
Tilting her head faintly, she eyes the woman almost idly, lips twitching faintly as the dappled mare bemoans the flycatchers and frogs. It had been a diverting thought, but she has never been one to linger on might-have-beens or impossible imaginings. “I suppose you’re right,” she agrees dismissively. “Good then that I am not.”
Though she neglects to mention it matters not whether it be a fly or a frog. Both are equally useful to her in their own ways.
“Hmmmm,” is her only response to the uninspired explanation of Neverwhere’s scarred features. She does not press the issue. After all, it’s only useful as long as there is information to be shared. And it seems she would only tell what Heartfire already knows on the subject.
For a time, Heartfire merely studies her, taking in the rough, exposed skin, salt-chapped cheeks, and red-rimmed eyes. It’s quite clear her companion’s sight is lacking. Even had she no ability in that regard, it would be obvious to most observers. Finally, she straightens abruptly, her blue gaze sharpening with a curious cunning (though Neverwhere likely cannot tell).
“Would you like to see it?” she offers slowly, her voice surprisingly mild, as though it were nothing more than an afterthought.
and they'll cut you like a weapon