"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."

OOC: I'm going to say this thread is happening before Dexter returned to the forest. Open to anyone. :)

Marbled eyes stared blankly out into the depths of the forest, one chocolate-colored lobe rotated forward and back with the occasional gentle scurry of a woodland mammal, or the far away call of a bird overhead. She was alone, but could smell Quinn nearby, thus she remained there, standing idly among the thicket. Macabre couldn't say she enjoyed this moment - she didn't really enjoy anything anymore - but she was content, temporarily at ease, even, being alone.

Watching over Quinn had given her some sense of temporary purpose. She assumed Dexter would be back, but until then, she was responsible for the colt. Quinn's father had up and abandoned them some time ago. When Macabre finally realized what had happened -- that in her foolish and grief-ridden daze, Dexter had taken her to an island she did not know and left her with his son, his only healthy son, she was furious. The mare was terrified of being alone, and left to not only fend for herself but her dead son's half-brother. It was clear from the scents that lingered in the breeze that Dexter had left them in a territory belonging to another. A herd was here somewhere. So Macabre kept them moving every few hours, hovering at the edge of the territory, the sound of the ocean's crashing waves always within reach.

She focused on the distant chirps. High-pitched, tender calls streaking through the sky, the volume fading as the gang of ospreys took flight from the trees overhead. Macabre's chestnut lobes flicked forward and back, listening intently for the rustle of feathers in the birds' wide wingspan, for the blows of air that flapped back with each gentle thrust into flight. She needed her mind to stop working. She needed the trees and the earth around her to stop spinning. She hadn't taken the time to really digest what had happened. Her son was dead, and she had left him there, weezing on the earth's floor of the Inlet. Dogun had last a battle for her and she now belonged to father of her dead child, Dexter.

And he had abandoned her, leaving her alone in an unknown territory. If this wasn't rock bottom, she wasn't sure what is.