The Lost Islands
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Making love to a m e m o r y
Posted on July 19, 2016 at 08:29:08 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 sun continues to find a way to penetrate the dense forest canopy of the Ridge, illuminating the earth's floor in bright bursts of light as she travels out of the foliage and into an open break in the land. Vodnik is there, looking rather stoic under the bright morning sun. Macabre takes him in as she approaches. He looks like something of another world -- stout and well chiseled. Strong and confident. Feral and free.

The small mare is reminded of the way she fretted about him during those long days in between the last time she set foot in the the Ridge to now. The stallion had constantly been on the forefront of her mind, but not necessarily in the way she had anticipated. Macabre was fearful of him. Their initial meeting had been an excruciatingly nerve wrecking experience for her. But instead of lingering on the 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 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.

Nevertheless, the same strange tightness churned in her gut as she stood before him now. Allill couldn't have been farther from her mind. A lone ear lobe flicks forward and back as she registers his labored breathing, clearly a wound from his most recent battle. He answers her earlier question with a short and curt "yes", and Macabre's stare immediately darts to the floor.

When he speaks again, her gaze returns to him and again she is curious. She didn't anticipate such courteous behavior from him. She bobs her head in agreement, ridding one dark eye from the pesky strands of her long and straying forelock. "A drink would be nice." She says quietly.




"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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