"If Love himself weep, shall not lovers weep,
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 followed Dexter on shaky limbs, her strides awkward and choppy and her pace inconsistent. She did not falter when their bodies touched, when the grand mass of the sooty-colored stallion gently aligned with hers, herding her in the direction he'd set forth for the pair. The mare had almost forgotten about the colt, the young, bright-eyed and healthy boy that followed in their wake. For a moment a pang of guilt overcame her for ignoring him. Her son had died while this one lived, though it was clear he had no mother. Macabre could not come up with another scenario in which Dexter would have a child trailing behind him, at least. Perhaps the stallion wasn't as awful as she'd given him credit for. That said, Macabre knew she could never forgive him for what he'd done to her -- for giving her a son and then killing him in the same regard. This was all his fault.

Once they reached the shoreline she hesitated, the muscles in her appendages threatening once again to bring her crashing into the damp sand. How she loathed the ocean. The swim from Tinuvel to the Crossing was difficult enough, knowing that she was leaving behind Shiraz for good. Now he was encouraging her to emerge into it again, and end up God knows were. Macabre began to question why she wanted to run away with him in the first place. If that's what she was doing, after all.

Macabre kept her eyes closed for much of the duration of the swim. Occasionally she'd call out, weak high-pitched murmurs and gut-wrenching, gurgling cries when the pain would find her all over again. She winced from the rain drops that erupted overhead, half-heartedly wishing for Dexter to just leave her here to drown in the storm. My son is dead, my son is dead, kept replaying over and over again in her mind.

Luthien grew larger in the hazy distance, and eventually they emerged onto the island's shore. She deciphered quickly that they were in the forest, despite having never set foot on this island before. She leaned her soaken frame into Dexter's, her withers barely reaching that of his shoulder, while her nostrils flared. Marbled eyes focused on the maze of trees in the distance, ear lobes pricked forward at attention as she listened to the birds from within the depths of the dark wooded terrain. "He's going to come look for me." She finally said, her voice raspy and weak from misuse. Upon finding the dead body of her son, Macabre was sure the pony king would come for her, too.