"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."

Shiraz continued to forage in the nearby brush, his head tucked low among the branches of the tough foliage that grew with fervor as summer shone on. The warm rays of the summer's sun felt fine against Macabre's brown and golden-speckled hide --- her frame looking a bit more fruitful than it had when she first arrived. The mare could still use a few more pounds, as the bones of her hips and spine still protruded from the thin hide that covered them, but her coat, now having shed the remnants of winter, had returned in a healthy and sleek shine. Overall, she was feeling better. Stronger. More like herself than she had felt in ages.

The only thing that worried her was this sharp pang -- a feeling of guilt and worry -- that came when she was left alone with her son for too long. Something was bound to happen to him. It was The Reaper, the cloud that followed her for a lifetime, or maybe more. She could feel his presence here, creeping in slowly. But she didn't care share her worries with the world. Instead she smiled sweetly, as sweetly as Macabre could be, to Dogun, two chocolate-coated ear lobes pricked forward at attention. "Shiraz would love that, I'm sure," Macabre spoke, her glance falling back to her son in the brush. "He could use a friend his own age." She reached out to Dogun's shoulder, the soft skin of her muzzle pausing briefly there before she touched him lightly. "Enough about us. Tell me about you, Dogun. How did you end up among the islands? And in the Inlet of all places?"