Posted on March 25, 2014 at 02:09:09 PM by Macabre
 learning from what sad cause he pours his tears? Love hears his ladies crying their distress, showing forth bitter sorrow through their eyes because villainous Death has worked its cruel destructive art upon a gentle heart, and laid waste all that earth can find to praise in a gracious lady, save her chastity." Macabre's coat blended with the earth, a bland hue of brown. Her physical appearance was equally as plain. Though petite in structure and correct in confirmation, nothing about her features made her stand out. Especially when compared to the painted mare who swayed with graceful strides in front of her, even over the uneven, rock-riddled path they carried over. Sylvia's presence did not make her falter, however. Macabre was used to being overlooked by stallions - the last one chosen or wooed when surrounded by more sparkly trinkets. The two made a handsome couple, Sylvia's sleek perlino hue complimenting Midas' golden coat. Macabre assumed they had equally handsome children, well chiseled, confident and healthy. At one time in her life, that was all she dreamed about. Finding a mate and settling down in a fruitful place where she could live out the rest of her days. The idea seemed so hollow now, unreachable for the brown little mare. Love no longer existed for her. Her window to find it - as Slyvia and Midas had - had long been shut. But still, the dainty mare carried on. Merely nodding in acknowledgment of Midas' kind offer. "Thank you." Macabre muttered, taking a painful step forward toward the heaving trees that loomed in the distance. She was grateful, of course, but her gratitude could have easily been overlooked given her exhaustion. She followed them obediently, occasionally stumbling on the pebble-ridden path. Frantic eyes admired the jungle-like terrain, the humidity rising with the sun at their backs. The Ridge was quite different from the Quarry. Ears prick forward as Midas' voice carries back to her over the sound of humming insects and chirping birds from their high branches. Mismatched ears swivel back and forth as she processes his request, worried that she really doesn't have a good answer to share. Most of her stories were haunting, dismal tales. Not something she wished to share with anyone, let alone Midas and his mate. "Perhaps another time." She merely said following with an apologetic nicker. "When I feel stronger." She wondered if Midas could tell - if he could see the torment that masked her face. It wasn't hard to see she wasn't as vibrant as she once was. I saw him weeping there in human form, observing the stilled image of her grace; and more than once he raised his eyes toward Heaven, where that sweet soul already had its home, which once, on earth, had worn enchanting flesh." |
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