12-23-2019, 09:44 PM
Neverwhere has been here before, but the place looks... different. The smells are the same, though, the clean scent of grass and the faintly musty one of damp oak and maple, the menthol scent of conifers. They are a riot of color, red and gold, green, blaze orange, and something bordering inexplicably on magenta. Branches curl behind them, some black, others paler, grey-green, silver, and paper-white, peeling, birches. Acorns crunch underfoot.
She is drifting and out of her depth, but not lost. Never lost. The dappled mare touches her scarred nose to the damp, rough bark of the large oak beside her and knows what it will feel like before her skin presses against it. She feels that twist in her chest again. Magic. If one can see past the clouds in her eyes, they would see a brief flare of wonder suddenly freeze as her ears fall back against the dark earth-brown of her poll. The skin of her nostrils tightens and she bares her teeth viper-fast, raking them against the tree and scarring it's bark.
And then she is still again, ignoring the bitter and tannic taste of the tree's skin caught in her teeth, drying her tongue. It matches the dryness of her throat.
Damn it, Heartfire.
This place has changed her faster than she thought that it would. She is angry at herself, at loyalties she hadn't meant to let take root within her. The dappled mare lingers beneath the glorious cover of autumn leaves, her creams and chocolate browns blending seamlessly into the warm afternoon light filtering through, avoiding the open areas until she catches the bay mare's soft greeting in her frostbitten ears. It often happens this way, she is in the trees, spotted by someone she hadn't known was there.
She sighs.
But before Neverwhere can even turn to see who has caught her, a stallion approaches, bright as a poisonous amphibian. He wishes to be as plain as the quiet bay? He should. A third mare arrives, young, raw, she scolds him. The bald-faced mare weaves herself out of the thin tree line, drawing closer to the bay than to the flamboyantly colored pair.
"I think it's the most sensible thing I've ever heard anyone say in Beqanna."
She is drifting and out of her depth, but not lost. Never lost. The dappled mare touches her scarred nose to the damp, rough bark of the large oak beside her and knows what it will feel like before her skin presses against it. She feels that twist in her chest again. Magic. If one can see past the clouds in her eyes, they would see a brief flare of wonder suddenly freeze as her ears fall back against the dark earth-brown of her poll. The skin of her nostrils tightens and she bares her teeth viper-fast, raking them against the tree and scarring it's bark.
And then she is still again, ignoring the bitter and tannic taste of the tree's skin caught in her teeth, drying her tongue. It matches the dryness of her throat.
Damn it, Heartfire.
This place has changed her faster than she thought that it would. She is angry at herself, at loyalties she hadn't meant to let take root within her. The dappled mare lingers beneath the glorious cover of autumn leaves, her creams and chocolate browns blending seamlessly into the warm afternoon light filtering through, avoiding the open areas until she catches the bay mare's soft greeting in her frostbitten ears. It often happens this way, she is in the trees, spotted by someone she hadn't known was there.
She sighs.
But before Neverwhere can even turn to see who has caught her, a stallion approaches, bright as a poisonous amphibian. He wishes to be as plain as the quiet bay? He should. A third mare arrives, young, raw, she scolds him. The bald-faced mare weaves herself out of the thin tree line, drawing closer to the bay than to the flamboyantly colored pair.
"I think it's the most sensible thing I've ever heard anyone say in Beqanna."
Neverwhere
...
