"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."

Time in the Peak seemed to move at a snail's pace. Macabre found refuge amongst the rocky peaks for months now, though weeks went by and she'd rarely see any of her new sisters. The chestnut mare assumed they had better things to do -- a job, maybe -- to keep this land safe from others. It made her feel a bit useless that she had yet to contribute. The long periods of solitude wasn't new for Macabre. All her life she'd been aimlessly wandering, moving without much purpose from one place to the next, until a stallion came along and then another. It wasn't really much of an existence at all.

It was hard for her to believe that she was safe here, even though she told herself that over and over again in her mind. I'm OK here. I really am. But after Shiraz's death and the comfort Dogun once brought to her, and then Dexter, she just couldn't be so sure anymore. Macabre was doing her best to keep the darker thoughts at bay, to remain relaxed here. But it was a struggle every minute of every day.

The flaxen chestnut mare had eaten her fill, and was making her way down the rocky path when the strong scent of another wafted her way in the breeze. Her whiskered nostrils flare, dark, marbled eyes wide as she takes in her surroundings. In the distance she spots her -- a large, dark mare standing alone in the clearing. At first Macabre mistakes her for Inka. As she ambles her way, a friendly smirk upon her lips, she realizes too late that this mare is not Inka after all, but a stranger. Macabre issues a soft call to her anyway, not wanting to look foolish, and approaches slowly.