03-17-2020, 06:23 PM
The truth is, Neverwhere doesn't actually know where she is. This is not a part of Beqanna that Heartfire showed her, nor one she had happened on before. Truth be told, if she knew where she was, she would not likely stay, not likely press further into the strange little copse, but she can see the fairy lights flickering back and forth and, in spite of herself, she is curious about them. The magic of this land is not usually so visible, so independent of a horse, and so the bald-faced mare finds herself drawn in. She is lost, though, in her own reverie. This is a strange thing, and she might normally avoid it, but there is a novelty in being drawn to something simply because she can see it, flashing little lights that zip past her and around her, buzzing at her face and then gone in a flash of light that seems so obviously irritated. Bugs, she would think, if she were still blind, and part of her thinks they may still be just that, but the magic feels like electricity on her tongue and she knows they are something more.
What the mare is not doing, is watching where she is going until one of the creatures flicks itself off her nose with a scolding tone and pain blooms bright red on the glossy skin between her nostrils. Blue eyes widen and Neverwhere steps backs, then her ears pin and she snorts into the air at the little beast. The angry snort is answered by the soft breath of someone else and a despondent dust devil the whirls around her legs, tiny tornadoes from a filly nearly hidden in the early spring grass. Her head cocks to one side, pinned ears lifting, then twisting in all directions. There is not hint of a mother, no hint of a band or family, only a flickering gathering of angry fairies hovering nearby, each ready to ping themselves off her should she nearly trample the child again.
It might be the kindest thing to do. Just kill her now rather than let her starve, but the furious chittering of the Fairies grows louder and, uncertain of their actual power, the scowling mare only drops her head to look into bewildering eyes. Well, perhaps there is another way, then, Fairies.
"You are very small," not a promising start, "your tornado was also very small. I know a place that's windier than this."
She is in uncharted territory.
What the mare is not doing, is watching where she is going until one of the creatures flicks itself off her nose with a scolding tone and pain blooms bright red on the glossy skin between her nostrils. Blue eyes widen and Neverwhere steps backs, then her ears pin and she snorts into the air at the little beast. The angry snort is answered by the soft breath of someone else and a despondent dust devil the whirls around her legs, tiny tornadoes from a filly nearly hidden in the early spring grass. Her head cocks to one side, pinned ears lifting, then twisting in all directions. There is not hint of a mother, no hint of a band or family, only a flickering gathering of angry fairies hovering nearby, each ready to ping themselves off her should she nearly trample the child again.
It might be the kindest thing to do. Just kill her now rather than let her starve, but the furious chittering of the Fairies grows louder and, uncertain of their actual power, the scowling mare only drops her head to look into bewildering eyes. Well, perhaps there is another way, then, Fairies.
"You are very small," not a promising start, "your tornado was also very small. I know a place that's windier than this."
She is in uncharted territory.
Neverwhere
...
