"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 shrubs and thick stalks of grass that lined the sloping outerbanks of Dogun's shoreline were green and lush, perhaps the first true foliage to sprout in the early hours of spring. Winter was dying a slow and painful death, and its grip was still strong, felt foremost through the frigid gusts that beat against Inlet. Macabre could feel its fatal blows the second she emerged from the depths of the ocean, and for a brief second, she wished to return to the freezing waters, if for no reason other than to use the liquid as a shield against the relentless wind and sand that stung her ice-cold legs like knifes to flesh. She felt more exhausted now than the day she had arrived, crumpling into the cold earth with an exhausted gasp expelled through her whiskered nostrils. There her muscles went limp, the will to fight leaving her in one last hazy exhale, before her petite cranium came to rest against the cold pebbles of the vast sand dune. Her body trembled with each passing exhale, the shiver beginning at the top of her poll and working violently down the length of her spine, her earth-colored hide rippling to and fro as her body failed to rejuvinate under the dire circumstances. She could feel her core temperature plummeting, as her body continued to fail her. But in that moment she did not care. She did not cry out again, she merely lay herself to rest in the sand, eyelids shut tight as the sand washed over her.

She did not wonder if she'd live to see another day, the day that would break this streak of cold and gloomy skies and warm into spring. She did not think of Dogun, whether or not he was watching her here, watching her give up and die on his property. She did not think of Dexter and where he was right now, if he was still wandering aimlessly across the islands. And she did not think of her child, the frail sooty chestnut foal that watched its mother wither with her same round, brown eyes. Macabre thought of no one, but instead, day dreamed of better days. She remembered tricky trails in the woodline she'd scamper across as a child with her mother. She could still feel warmth of the sun's rays on her back, when they penetrated the canopy line and marked the earth with strange shadows. She could remember how her heart would race when she galloped across a secluded meadow, the tall grass bending to meet her weight and force as she teared through. If her entire life could be defined as a season, Macabre assumed it would be autumn. Fall was a strange time, a temporary place where each living creature passed through some change. Plants shed themselves of what could be a possible burden during the physical harshness of the coming winter months. Some mammals took shelter for a lengthy time with no plans to see a snow-covered terrain at all. Others traveled south, abandoning their common grounds for warmer weather. Much like the season, Macabre too was constantly changing, her life evolving into something different everyday. From the change in seasons, to the constant churning of life and death. Even the relationship from predator to prey. It all played a vital role, it all kept things working, every move fueled the furnace that kept this world in constant motion. Her death, be it today or another, would be no different.

The wind worked in their favor, covering the mare's scent and then Dogun's, its howling gusts hiding any sound of them creeping toward her. So when she finally opened her eyes, hazy chocolate orbs blinking to assess the weather, she was startled by the appearance of a mare's skinny frame Fear did not consume her. There was no adrenaline left to help her rise to feet for just one more time. Instead she lay there, her small cranium hovering just inches above the sand, chocolate-hued lobes lay limp at the sides of her poll. Macabre had spent the weeks, hell months, leading up to the moment worrying about the child growing inside her. She questioned her ability to raise it, she questioned its health and nutrition, she questioned the reliability of its father. But tonight, she could not muster the emotion inside herself to care. The foal stood shakily upon its limbs, nostrils flared as its little lungs expanded and contracted. "Shiraz." She mumbled, the name she had chosen for son. Shiraz moved at a snail's pace, testing his new, long limbs as he inched across the sand, dumbfounded by the amount of horses that stood by him.

His words passed through one ear and out the other, but Macabre did not protest when the stallion lowered himself down next to her. The moment his warm, dry hide touched her own sent a chill down the length of her spine. She knew what he was doing. He was attempting to aid her, help nurse her back to health here on his shoreline. Her forelimbs trembled as his warmth began to radiate through her, and it caused her heart beat to quicken in her chest. She whimpered almost at an inaudible volume in response to the sudden comfort. Her whimpers grew louder as she felt his neck drape over her own. No one had touched her in such a way in years. Not even Dexter. Suddenly she felt herself leaning against him, pressing herself harder into his frame in an effort to be closer to his warmth and allowing it to consume her. She gave in, taking him on as a shield and feeling drowsy now that Dogun blocked the pesky balks of sand from spraying her any longer. She barely heard his words before drifting off into sleep, and in that moment, Macabre had not a care in the world.


Hours passed and when the mare arose, the sun's rays were gently beginning to stretch out over of the ocean in the horizon, illuminating the waters in a warm orange and pink glow. The sea did not scowl at her as it did the day prior. The waves moved in softly sloping currents, the glass-like surface of its vast amount calm and quiet in the early morning hours. The wind too, although ever-present at a shoreline, was meek and mild, hardly the same creature that greeted her when she emerged from the depths of the ocean just hours before. The mare's senses were returning to her at a slowly, limbs out stretching from their neatly-tucked position, dull hooves digging deeper into the sand. Her vision was hazy but coming round. But she could smell him there, his heavy head draped over the small of her back. She was reminded of the events that led to where she was now, and her heart raced in her chest. Macabre was embarrassed and overwhelmingly worried all at the same time. Her breathing quickened, aching sides expanding and deflating in quick and rushed huffs. She struggled from underneath the stallion, moving quickly to rise to her feet. The mare's knees buckled in the loose sand and she wavered - once coming down to a knee before attempting to stand again - but she stood, sore limbs and tired muscles and all. Her empty abdomen felt heavy, perhaps still burning from her first birth the night before, and her eyes were glassy and bloodshot. But the mare was alive, and would live to see another day on this retched planet. She pivoted in the sand to face Dogun now, a sudden spark of life having returned to her eye. Shiraz and the vague memory of another mare were no where to be seen in the distance. "Where is my son?"