"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."

Macabre is trembling, a frigid, violent force in the muscles of her legs and chest is rocking her back and forth as the adrenaline leaves her body. In this instant, she doesn't recognize herself. The mare would never risk her own hide and stride blissfully aware of the consequences to stand up for another animal, and Dexter, of all creatures. Chocolate brown lobes flick forward and back in confusion as she registers this and the weight of the risky situation begins to set in. She can hear her heart beating loudly in her ears, almost deafening the words of others around them.

The only logical answer Macabre can come up with is hormones. Her body might not have registered that was no longer a mother, that there was no babe left at her side to care for. Perhaps her closeness with Quinn as of late continued to fuel this natural course of action. That is what this must be, she thought, eyes wide as she bounced back and forth to the horses that surrounded Dexter and herself, some kind of maternal instinct. Macabre had heard of mothers doing incredible things in a moment of panic when someone they loved was in danger. Perhaps this what her body was trying to propel her to do. If this mare whom stood before her was a mother, maybe should could understand that. Though Macabre doubted the little hope that idea gave her. She fought back the growing itch to flee, to scramble out of harms away and toward the shoreline behind them. But something kept her frozen in place, even when Dexter foolishly opened his mouth.

She cocked her petite head to one side, eyes wide as she stared into Dexter's, lobes now flat against her skull. She was flabbergasted by his response. He was in no condition to be so cocky, not when they were clearly in need of help. "Look at him. He won't make it you make us swim back to the Crossing." She spat, standing bravely, well, as bravely as a pony-sized mare on shaking limbs can look. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Quinn pacing about. She focused on him intently before bobbing her head, as if asking him to come over. Maybe if they looked more like a family unit this strange stallion and his bully of a mare would let them stay. "We'll stay along the shore away from your family. And just until he's had a few hours to rest. Please."