The Lost Islands
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Making love to a m e m o r y
Posted on May 30, 2019 at 05:56:51 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 jungle of Paradise looked much different today than it did those years ago, when Macabre called this place home. It was cast in dark ominous shadows from the angry clouds above, and the onslaught of rain water that fell from them. The petite flaxen chestnut mare's sides heaved as her nostrils flared - her lungs burned with each passing gasp, the singe of seawater still quite raw. Her glare whipped from the sounds of the dense woods behind her back out into the sea. Her dark marble eyes hovered over ever coming wave and current, looking for any signs of the mare and foal of whom she'd set out on this journey with.

Her heart was beating so loud in her ears, she never heard him coming.

What if Cherish and Clarity drowned? Could Macabre really live with that kind of guilt? She began to pace with worry, her soft hooves sinking into the damp sand as she'd take four-to-five frantic steps at a time, prance in place, then turn and scamper the other direction. Her soaking blonde mane lay flat, splattered against her thin neck. And her still-damp tail would come to land with a thwack against the side of her haunches as she whipped it anxiously back and forth.

The minutes passed, and still, no sign of Cherish and her filly.

She turned to trudge down the opposite end of the shore again, and when she did, she saw the stallion coming. At first, Macabre froze - her prey instincts taking hold as she sized him up. He was large, much larger than her. But then her survival skills kicked in, the ones she'd developed slowly over time, mostly due to circumstance but also because of the fire her sisters from the Peak had lit in her belly. She pinned her ears and barred two rows of yellowed teeth at him, warning him not to come any closer. But one ear lobe swiveled forward when he spoke.

"The storm." She replied hoarsely, her tone barely more audible than a whisper. Like her lungs, her throat burned from the saltwater. She coughed once, then twice, and tried again. "I was traveling with another mare and her foal. We were separated in the storm." Macabre saw no reason to lie to the stranger. She debates quickly if she should announce who she is, where she's from and her title. But she swallows hard against her red-raw throat, and chooses to keep this information to herself for now.

"Is there another beach on this end of the island?" She asks, as a clap of thunder erupted over head. Her bloodshot eyes were trained on him, her expression stony and serious. She didn't have time to play games, nor to try to decipher what this stallion wanted from her, in this moment. Not when Cherish's and Clarity's lives were on the line. She racked her brain to remember from the last time she was here, but everything was clouded by her anxious need to find them.




"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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