The Lost Islands
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Making love to a m e m o r y
Posted on December 14, 2015 at 07:00:47 PM by Macabre




"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."


She focused on the distant chirps. High-pitched, tender calls streaking through the sky, the volume fading as the gang of ospreys took flight from the trees overhead. Macabre's chestnut lobes flicked forward and back, listening intently for the rustle of feathers in the birds' wide wingspan, for the blows of air that flapped back with each gentle thrust into flight. That's what she did when she needed her mind to stop working. When she needed the trees and the earth around her to stop spinning.

It didn't spin so fast anymore.

For some time, Macabre punished herself by reliving the day her son died over and over again in her mind -- What the pitter-patter of her small hooves against the brittle grass and leaves underneath them sounded like. Stagnant huffs as she raced to the shoreline of the Inlet -- toward the endless ocean, despite her general fear -- with nothing else on her mind except to get as far away from there as possible. The limp, wheezing frame of he frail Shiraz which lay among the leaf litter. That was the last time she ever saw her son.

But that was behind her now. She didn't think about Shiraz nearly as often anymore. Sometimes she felt guilty about it. But life had to move on.

When she looked at the gangly boy, Ailill, in front of her now, she was reminded of Shiraz. This boy, however, was healthy. He was bright and curious. He seemed brave and kind. She nods politely as he introduces himself, a few stray strands of her blonde forelock falling delicately over one eye. When he extends his muzzle to her, her petite head whips up high above her withers, startled by the intrusion into her personal space. Her dark eyes widen and she huffs a quick exhale, trying to mask her surprise before uneasily moving her own nose to his in a cordial exchange of breathe.

His words are laced with fantasy only the young and naive could craft. But she smiles anyway, thinking maybe Shiraz would have been so boastful around women if he had lived a healthy life. "I don't have anywhere else to go." She says quietly, her thin tail flicking back and forth over her haunches. She decides quietly that she'll stay here. She'll keep a passive eye over the boy, offering wisdom when he needs it, and maybe finding refuge among others he's able to convince to follow him here. When things go awry, and oh they will, she can at least be thankful for some time spent under the warm sun, hopefully with company this time. "I hope you don't mind terribly if I stay." She cracks another weak smile before her gaze shifts to the ocean. "Have you seen much of Paradise yet? I'd be happy to show you around."




"Hear then how Love paid homeage to this lady;
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."

Macabre | 6 | Mare | Mustang X Morgan | 14.2 HH | flaxen chestnut | © Vinyl




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