The Lost Islands
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Falls

Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.

Making love to a m e m o r y
Posted on August 23, 2016 at 05:09:05 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."

Macabre couldn't remember the last time she'd left Atlantis. Aside from a few panicked trips to see some dear friends in the Peak, she hadn't left the shores of Paradise in what felt like an eternity. The slight chestnut mare couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was that drove her into the ocean on this particular day, but she was itching to leave. Her entire body shuttered as she eased her body into the waves. She hated the endless sea. She was terrified of it.

Nevertheless, Macabre often dreamed of the sea. The ebb and flow of the waves, the swell of the creamy current as it lapped at the shoreline and whipped back into the depths from which it came. She had loved the water as a child. It was something they worshiped in her tribe, a gift from the gods, a vital part of her everyday existence. But it was also the monster that ripped everything away from her. As an adult, the ocean made her uneasy. Being by the shoreline made her tense. She hated staring out into its nothingness, knowing very well how small she was in comparison to its mass, how easily the liquid could consume her, as it had her parents.

With awkward and choppy steps, the mare moved quickly away from Atlantis and toward the Crossing. She sighed brief relief upon seeing the snow-capped top of the Peak, its blinding whiteness like a beacon, guiding her safely to the shore. When she arrived on the soft sand beach leading to the Falls, the mare immediately regretted her decision to come here. She struggled to catch her breathe as she tried to conceal her anxiety. Ever since Vodnik had told her she was the lead mare of his terrain, something didn't feel quite right in her gut. She felt on edge, anxious and paranoid. None of this was out of place for Macabre, but the feelings were more intense than usual. It was clear the heavy draft stallion was testing her, much like he had tested her when he scrutinized the way she scaled a steep slope on her first day in the Ridge. If she wanted the freedom she had requested, she had to prove to him she was capable of handling the responsibilities he'd assigned to her.

The chestnut mare shivered in the brisk autumn air, and moved quickly away from the beach and toward higher ground in an effort to get her blood flowing through her cool limbs. That's when she spotted the large mare near the falls. Macabre didn't recognize her, but something about her seemed familiar. Perhaps she reminded her of her old compatriots back in the Peak. But she couldn't place her face. Just her scent. Macabre strode up to the edge of the greay pool dropping her head to drink from the crystal clear waters. There she offered the stranger a weak smile. She took a few steps toward her, her nose hovering over the few strands of brittle grass that remained across the stretch of open land. As she approached, she nickered eagerly. "Hello there." she said gently, trying not to think about the long, dark swim home she still had ahead of her.




"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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