"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."

Sweat dampens the young mare's light fur, coating her chest, neck and back in a murky brown color. She always enjoyed the warmer temperatures, even though the summer months always reminded her of home. Macabre tried to stop thinking about them, about her parents and the tribe whose memory existed solely in her mind now. The Great Flood, however, the very end of her adolescence as she knew it, was always, painfully, what she remembered first.

This stout, ashen mare did not seem in the mood for company. Though she accepted Macabre's presence begrudgingly, or so it seemed. Remembering her need for purpose here, the chestnut mare takes note of the acquaintance's distracted mood, and decides to make introductions short. She needed friends here, of course, but she did not want to be overstepping her boundaries. Nor did she want to a develop a reputation as being needy or a pest.

The chestnut mare is about speak, racking her brain for something polite, though pleasant and somewhat interesting to say when the pitter-patter of hoof beats breaks her train of thought. Macabre's lobes swivel back to the source of the sound, and by the time she cocks her petite cranium to the right to see who is approaching in such a manner, Jetta is nearly at her side, bounding up joyfully, without a care in the world. Macabre can't help but smile, whatever nerves that hung over her about introducing herself to another stranger had melted away. She was rather fond of the filly, too.

"Jetta! Look at you!" She said gleefully, allowing her right shoulder to nudge into the filly's in a playful way. She then wrapped her neck over Jetta's, and upon releasing her, Macabre's lips parted for her to lap lazily at the young girl's unkempt mane. "Look at how you've grown. Come tomorrow, you'll be as tall as our friend here, and I'll officially be the smallest member of the Peak."

Macabre's attention returns to Impa when she speaks. The mare nods in an obedient fashion when she introduces her, with her title. Her blonde, thin tail flicks back and forth across her haunches anxiously. "It's nice to meet you Impa. I am Macabre. I'm new here. And this Jetta, Inka's daughter." She says though cautiously. She worries almost instantly after speaking if it was not her place to introduce another's child. "Perhaps you can help us find a cooler place on the Peak to chat then."