The Lost Islands
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Making love to a m e m o r y
Posted on June 21, 2019 at 09:02:39 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."

As the minutes passed, the frantic thump of Macabre's beating heart began to dull. Adrenaline still coursed through her veins, but not with the same voracity as when she first emerged from the surf, desperate and hopeful that Cherish and Clarity were just a few steps behind her. The rational side of the Peak mare's mind was taking over. She knew that the more minutes that passed by, the less likely it was that she was going to find her friend and the filly. At least, find them alive.

Despite the despair that came with such a gruesome thought, Macabre's survival instincts began to kick in. She watched the stallion intently out of the corner of her eye, trying to play coy and not let him realize just how in tuned she was to his body language and the moments he made. She'd been taken hostage by enough stallions in her short lifetime to know the drill. Macabre was ripe for the picking - alone and exhausted, a delicate present waiting for him at his doorstep.

If that was truly how the stallion viewed her, Macabre would not be a willing participant. She hadn't fled the Lagoon after all this time just to become the captive of a new aggressor. Silently, she asked herself if she was ready to die to fight for her freedom. Her mind flashed to Wasp, her daughter. And without a second thought, she swallowed hard against her scorched throat as she made up her mind. She would die before she bowed to another ever again.

The stallion noticed the disturbance in the distance first. But Macabre's dark marbled eyes trailed after his. She attempted to sound off a pathetic, hoarse, whinny over the pitter-patter of the rain when she saw a battered Cherish and Clarity stumbling toward them. A wave of relief washed over Macabre, but it was short lived.

The petite, flaxen chestnut mare pressed her wet nose against Cherish's chest and then at Clarity's withers, grateful to see the Reaper had not come for them. As Cherish slid up to stand by Macabre's side, one soaken ear lobe swiveled to the side as she took in her question. But she didn't answer it verbally. Instead Macabre answered Cherish in the form of a stern, worried glare. No, this stallion was not a friend.

Macabre took a few steps forward to stand defensively in front of Cherish and Clarity, as the stallion offered up a safe place for them to rest. Several seconds went by in silence as Macabre weighed the risks. She knew this land - she lived here for years, by herself, and then with Tarrant and Allilil. Some more years had passed since then, but Macabre could tell the brute was a relative newcomer. His scent was the only one around, at least of what she could gather so far. Perhaps they had a chance.

Macabre bobbed her head in agreement, then waited for the stallion to lead the way.




"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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