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 June 23, 2017 at 07:23:34 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 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.

Macabre was used to being alone. She had traversed miles and miles completely by herself, attaching herself to any horse that crossed her path, before she stumbled upon The Lost Islands. After the Quarry had crumbled into the ocean and there was no signs left of Midas on Atlantis, she continued to wander alone. After Dogun, after Dexter and after Shiraz. She wound up on Atlantis again, where she suffered under the blazing sun alone for months by herself in Paradise.

But she'd never felt more alone than she did lately.

The Peak was quiet, too quiet, in the wake of Inka's death. Jetta and Macabre strolled on as the two remaining Vulcans for months, rarely crossing paths. Macabre didn't want to bother Jetta with her loneliness. And thus, Macabre was left alone again with her downtrodden thoughts. Her misery drove her off the Crossing Isle just once. It was on Tinuvel where Diamant found her, grieving the loss of a son from years ago. Perhaps the relief had been healthy. But now she was craving something different. Something somewhat foreign to her. She wanted company.

The petite chestnut mare stood motionless for several seconds, watching through dark, marbeled eyes as the birds grew to be distant dots on the horizon, until they faded completely from view. Her soft-skinned nostrils flared as she breathed a low and easy exhale, and walked forward with cautious steps out of the Peak's domain and along the semi-familiar path toward the falls. She walks until she can hear the falls, the low drum of the far-off liquid filling her ears. Despite her suddenly elevated heartbeat and increasing anxiety, she pushes herself forward, through a clearing into the open space that surrounds the waterfalls and their great, crystal clear pool. The terrain is quiet at this hour, which usually isn't normal, but given the few social interactions the mare's had lately, she doesn't give it a second thought. She considers ambling her way the pool's bank for a drink, but stops dead in her tracks when she sees a stallion there, who quickly turns on his haunches and heads in her direction.

It's too late for her to flee. He must have spotted her by now. So she stands there, frozen and awkward, watching as the stallion moves ever closer in her direction. She's panicking on the inside, but wasn't this the reason she ventured from the Peak in the first place? Macabre issues a short snort and then another, trying to build up her confidence in the few remaining moments before the stallion is within speaking distance. When he crosses that threshold, she issues a friendly, but weak, nicker in his direction. "Hello." She mutters hoarsely.




"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 | 12 | Mare | Mustang X Morgan | 14.2 HH | flaxen chestnut | © Vinyl




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