"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."

A gentle breeze drifted through the inlet, the ancient oaks and various pines bending and aching in the cool gust, their full branches quivering as it passed. The highlighted strands of Macabre's mane danced about her topline in the breeze. She stood idly in the open pasture, enjoying the cool wind and the terrain around her. She was content, perhaps for the first time she could remember since God knows when. She felt safe -- a feeling she feared was fleeting, but tried to keep her general worrisome nature from rising to the surface. This was a good thing. Dogun was a good thing. He was providing for her, and for her son, a phrase that still seemed so foreign to her. Macabre tried to remind herself to enjoy this -- this feeling of well, nothing, for however long it would last.

Macabre watches from behind dark orbs as the small stallion approached. Her lackadaisical stance did not falter. Instead, the mare stood at ease, chocolate-hued lobes forward and at attention as he moved in to greet them. She welcomed him, of course, with a gentle nicker, the mare's soft-skinned nostrils flaring as she huffed, a bit of smirk cracking her whiskered lips. She was hardly as manicured as Freya, or likely any of Dogun's other mares. Despite her delicate and petite frame, Macabre was rather haggard looking -- the toll of being homeless and malnourished for so long having been hard on her body. It would take some time before she'd look healthy again. But she assumed if she stayed here, she could be better. Life could be better. Not for her, but for Shiraz.

The young colt weezed, a high-pitched hissing sound escaping from his agape mouth, the sooty-colored babe's slender sides rising and falling with each deep gasp. He had run himself ragged, leaping and skipping about. Macabre watched him as his breathing stabilized, curious about her son's condition. But Dogun spoke, and her attention was shifted elsewhere. Shiraz hadn't spoke much. Macabre wasn't sure if that was her own doing or not. She too wasn't a woman of many words, despite her appropriate upbringing and polite nature. The colt merely looked on at Dogun, bright-eyed and flicking his tail almost violently back and forth.

"Shiraz, it's not polite to say nothing when someone is speaking to you." Macabre said, nudging her son at the shoulder. Shiraz remained silent, however, looking to Dogun and back to his mother before trotting off to explore the nearby brush. Macabre turned to Dogun and smiled apologetically. "We're getting around just fine, thank you." She responded with a gentle dip of her delicate cranium. "I've been meaning to thank you, again, Dogun. I am very lucky to have found you when I did. We," She said, her head cocking to one side, her eyes finding Shiraz in the distance. "We are very lucky."