Common

Exhaustion was was truly starting to grip the young colt. His body started swaying in place and his eyes fluttering open and closed. Words were barely making sense to him anymore, but the low gentle tones of Cinnamon’s voice lulled him further into a sense of security. A moment of panic flicked his dark eyes open before it was soothed again. His father had never spoken to him like this. It might have been low, but it had always been a hiss.

The more words Cinnamon spoke, the more lost Zharko seemed to start to become until at last the older stallion offered his side for warmth and support. Swallowing his young pride, th dark colt stepped forward and gratefully leaned against the red ember that would potentially save his life. Taking a deep breath, he decided in the moment to actually trust in this stranger, putting a slight bit more weight on him to ease his aching limbs even further. For a quiet moment he let the words Cinnamon was saying float lazy through his mind, knowing he would address it eventually. While he tried to process everything that was coming to him, and how to answer, he gave himself time and strength by nipping at the snow kissed grass at their hooves. Even though the meal was cold and dead, it eased the twisting in his stomach enough that he could think of other things, such as the questions the stallion had been posing to him.

The boy smiled. It was a flash of a smile, taken from his dark lips so fast one would have thought it had taken too much energy to turn the corners up. Zharko. He answered softly, too numb to let bitterness creep into his word. For his short life he had many names. Runt. Bastard. It was a wonder he had not been sold at his birth. Though, in a way what had happened might have been more profitable. Cinn, Cinnamon. He tried to grin, never knowing if he succeeded. I’ll call you Cinn. It was almost as if he had declared himself Cinnamon’s first friend on the island, but the boy was still unsure if he wanted to hold such a tie so quickly. Things changed, and things changed quickly. Silence fell on them for a moment. Zharko took this opportunity, that he created, to nibble at more brown stocks. The words Cinnamon said slowly started to sink in. He would not be chased away by this man. He would be helped by him, if he wanted. Zharko was wise enough to know nothing until the final moments had been his fault. Every day he had been told not to worry, it was nothing to had done to spur the hate, it had been because of what he was. There was nothing to fix. Except he had lost his brother. That was something he could have fixed.

He stared down at the grass buried in snow. His body was starting to warm and he was starting to feel normal again. At least normal enough so he could gather his thoughts. When he tried, the thoughts came to him like the waves he had just escaped. Once more the reality of the situation crashed down on him. My sire chased us away. He blurted before he could stop himself. Teeth clicked hard, trying to bite back the childish urge to babble on, to reveal everything. Almost as soon as they had been weaned the stallion who sired them had made it no secret what their fate would be. Two rejects, destined for the grave. When at last the murderous hooves sought their flesh the boys’ mothers did what they could to withstand the beating and try to save them by ushering them into the sea. At least in the water their death was likely as opposed to promised. We...weren’t what he wanted. The boy was quiet again. Differences were clear from their birth. His brother’s ears moved in the wrong directions when his mother tried to teach him his name. And Zharko would clearly never live up to be able to fight by his father’s side as prince. His stature was smaller than the others. A runt amongst the herd. A liability or easy fodder.

Zharko’s body had stopped shaking, but he was still far from warm. Regretting his choices before he even made them, he eased himself away from the source of warmth, and instead settled himself to his knees, hoping he was stable enough to keep himself warm and alive. Legs tucked under him he also hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself as awkwardly small as possible to conserve heat. Occasionally he still pulled at mouthfuls of grass, never talking with his mouth full. Ears flicked around uncertainly, his mind still trying to piece together where he had found himself and what he was to do next. I lost my brother in the water. It was too deep for us. And the distance too long. The journey from mainlands to the islands were often a struggle for adults to muster, let alone bodies that had not even aged a year. Without moving his head from his own chest, he looked back up at Cinnamon. What is this place? He hoped the adult would know, even if he had not been there long, maybe he had heard stories of this place and that was why he had come here.