The Lost Islands
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Making love to a m e m o r y
Posted on August 2, 2016 at 08:51:24 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 weight of her drink feels heavy in her stomach. Perhaps she had drank too much at once, or maybe the bloating was coupled with the nerves that twisted her gut into knots upon hearing Vodnik respond to her question. For a moment, Macabre could have sworn she was dreaming. She is at a loss of how to respond to him and instead merely stares for some time, listening to the gurgling coming from her stomach as the water makes it way through her body.

The chestnut mare doesn't fault him for his personality quirks. It has become remarkably clear that this is just the way he is - a warrior, one that is equally feral and protective. He is not unlike other stallions she'd known in the past who were both aggressive and prideful of their masculinity. But if he was being genuine with her, in this isolated moment at the riverbank, than there was more to him than she had initially given him credit for.

The seconds continue to tick by and Macabre is still struggling to find the appropriate way to respond to him. She knows so little about him. She knows so little about what her future will hold under his rule, whether he likes her or not. "Well." She says weakly, if only to stall, while her gaze flicks from the trees to the grass to the river and to anywhere but to his face. "That is nice to hear."

She says finally but she can't bring herself to smile. Instead she takes a few steps toward him and away from the riverbank. Her brown lobes flick forward and back as she approaches. She wants to ask him, Why? You don't even know me! but is afraid that this rare moment of vulnerability won't surface again if she comes on too strong. So instead she merely hovers near him, the nearest she's ever been, close enough to feel the hot exhales from his nostrils against her neck.

"I hear the Ridge has incredible views from the peaks over there." She said, staring out beyond the treeline where the flat forests turn to rocky cliffs. "Will you be my guide?"




"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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