The Lost Islands
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Making love to a m e m o r y
Posted on July 3, 2017 at 08:40:11 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."

It didn't surprise her that Rowena didn't recognize the Peak's strong scent, and how it clung the fibers of Macabre's brown coat. It was perhaps her favorite smell of all the islands -- the hints of the crispness of the mountainous air, the sweetness of the evergreen trees, the warmth of the feminine traces from her fellow herd mates. As far as Macabre knew, Rowena had barely explored the islands when she lived here. Macabre smiles sweetly and bobs her head in acceptance of Rowena's sweet compliment, but the small mare couldn't hide the look of concern that's still plastered across her face. She was confused by every second of this interaction, despite how grateful she was for it at the same time. None of it made sense.

Two copper-colored ear lobes prick forward with interest when Rowena goes on to explain her future plans here, which doesn't sound like much of a plan at all. But Macabre listens, as she always does, before deciding to press the heavier set mare gently, just a little further, for more information. "What brought you back here? If you're uncertain if you want to stay?" She speaks quietly, cocking her petite head to one side as she watches Rowena. She hates seeing such a display of sadness across her features. It breaks her heart, and in this moment, Macabre wants nothing more than to take all this despair from her.

It Rowena had asked her what she was doing here in the Ridge if she didn't live here, Macabre would have been hard-pressed to come up with a good answer. Macabre too, was sad. She missed the versions of her life that she had lost, missed opportunities that came and went and were beyond her control. She was feeling melancholy and nostalgic at the same time, which drove her here to be alone with those feelings until she could better bottle them up. But similar to Diamant when he found her on Tinuvel, Rowena doesn't press it. It seems unimportant in the grand scheme things, and for that, Macabre was thankful. "I live in the Peak now, which is where I lived before I met your father." She explains in a long-winded answer. "It is quite lovely. There are several of us there, whom I've come to regard as sisters. Perhaps it could be a home for you too Rowena, even if only temporary." She suggests, bumping her friend softly with her nose.

But her train of thought was quickly diverted to sounds of branches breaking under hooves. Macabre's head snaps in the direction of the sounds, her nostrils flared and her ears pricked at attention. Instinctively, she steps in front of Rowena before a stranger emerges from the brush. There Macabre stood, in between them both, unwavering, frozen in time, until the mare speaks. Only then does Macabre breathe a low sigh, but her muscles do not relax under her taunt chestnut hide. "Hello." Macabre begins weakly, casting a side eye glare back at Rowena. "I apologize for our intrusion to your home. We both lived here, some time ago, and were taking a casual trip down memory lane." Macabre explains with a polite smile across her whiskered lips. "We mean you no trouble."

Then the petite mare backs away several steps, allowing her defensive stance in front of Rowena to melt away. She flicks her tail nervously over her haunches, back and forth and back and forth, before deciding to introduce herself. "My name is Macabre, of the Peak." She offers proudly.




"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 | 12 | Mare | Mustang X Morgan | 14.2 HH | flaxen chestnut | © Vinyl




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