The Lost Islands
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Making love to a m e m o r y
Posted on March 29, 2016 at 06:55:44 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."

The image of Vodnik lingers on the forefront of her mind, but not necessarily in the way she had anticipated. Macabre was fearful of the heavy stallion during what seemed to be an excruciatingly nerve wrecking experience. Instead of experiencing trauma from the fear she had felt, Macabre found herself over analyzing the stallion's words, memorizing his facial expressions, and searching for meaning behind his lingering dark stare. There was something about Vodnik that made her curious. She secretly wanted to know more. But the petite chestnut mare was smarter than that. She knew that dramatic situations such as this never amounted to any good. She was old and wise enough to know that just because the experience had been thrilling -- and he had hadn't kidnapped or attacked her -- that didn't make Vodnik worthy of her time.

Though it did require some mental reminders, when she felt her imagination running away with her.

She stood silently as the rain continued to come down and as Ailill responded to the blow she had felt so terrible to bear. She hangs her head low as he twitches and jumps and bucks, unsure of what to say next that could calm or prepare the young boy for the weight of what was to come. It made her feel even more guilty as she gauged whether or not Ailill truly understood the gravity of the situation.

Water clung to the long whiskers of her muzzle, droplets rolling slowly to the ends, growing in size until they fell down to the earth at her feet. "I believe you should begin preparing for the worst possible outcome." She said finally, one dampened lobe twitching forward and back. "Perhaps Tarrant would be more helpful in this situation." While Macabre had fought in her past, while she had killed to save her life, Ailill would need a more skillful coach in this regard.

When she felt Ailill's touch, it felt so foreign. His hot breathe reached her first, and combined with the chill she felt due to the rain, it sent a shiver down her spine. By the time his nose reached her shoulder, she was recoiling from him. Not in disgust but in general surprise. The two had not engaged in any sense of touch, be it merely friendly or otherwise. Once she realized how she had reacted, Macabre whickered to him, feeling even more guilty for having stepped away from him instead of leaning in. But her mind was a whirl from the day prior, and she felt downright exhausted. "Ailill, I'm truly sorry for the trouble I've caused you."





"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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