The Lost Islands
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Making love to a m e m o r y
Posted on July 5, 2016 at 04:35:33 PM by Macabre




"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."

She could smell him before she could see him. It was unsettling, to know that the stallion was lurking so close. It made her heart beat fitfully against the confines of her slender chest. But she remained still, only her dark marbled eyes scanning the foliage that surrounded her in hopes of spying his looming frame in the distance. After several minutes of doing so unsuccessfully, a strong thirst drives her to her all fours. She moves swiftly but delicately, rising from the moist and damp forest floor onto her hooves, leaf litter, twigs and soil clinging to her barrel and the unkempt locks of her mane and tail. She doesn't move to shake it from her pelt.

Macabre stands for a brief moment, surveying the landscape from her new point of view before trudging through the short underbrush to reach more open land. It wasn't long before Vodnik's frame came into view, the large stallion rummaging through the grasses and brush to graze. The petite mare observes him keenly from several yards away, watching him as she knows he is watching her. This arrangement is so peculiar to her. She is utterly bewildered by his incessant need to acquire her and keep her here. She knows it's only a matter of time before he is disappointed with her, and she becomes just another trinket to store on his shelf.

Nevertheless, Macabre understands he is the one who ultimately controls her fate, at least in the short term, and she is more interested in securing a peaceful and modest way of life in the Ridge than the consequences that could come from her spatting off what she really thinks of him. So the chestnut mare nickers gently, her tender call easily carrying across the open sparce between them, and ambles over at a short but brisk pace. She lowers her head as she approaches, chestnut lobes forward and at attention. "What a calm and quiet morning." She begins, halting once she was within several feet of him. "Is it always this quiet here?"




"Hear then how Love paid homeage to this lady;
I saw him weeping there in human form,
observing the stilled image of her grace;
and more than once he raised his eyes toward Heaven,
where that sweet soul already had its home,
which once, on earth, had worn enchanting flesh."

Macabre | 6 | Mare | Mustang X Morgan | 14.2 HH | flaxen chestnut | © Vinyl




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