she's in my veins again
Cinn thought his words may have actually started to get through to the young stallion. He appeared to be calming down, and though it took him a second to consider, the colt accepted when the older stallion offered his side for warmth. Cinn could feel how cold the boy was, and how his still damp fur was clinging to his skin so that any heat he might have produced would have been whisked away by the breeze. It made him feel something he didn’t have a word for—useful? helpful? protective?—that was close to the feeling of being needed, which was both pleasant and scary. It always felt good to be needed, to be the one for the job, the one who gets to save the day, but it was also a scary feeling. He didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he had not been there when the young colt came crashing into the common. Would he have been able to get warm? Find food? What if someone else had been waiting for him, someone not so keen on helping lost foals? The feeling slightly more intense when the colt leaned on him for support, and he pushed the scary thoughts out of his mind, bracing his sturdy legs against the ground so the boy could put as much weight on him as he needed.
For a few moments they just stood together, and when the colt ducked his head to pluck at the meager offerings of grass, Cinnamon did the same, pushing the snow around with his nose so they could get to any sweet green chutes left below. There were still a few left from the warm seasons, and Cinn managed a few mouthfuls, making sure to leave some for Zharko. “Zharko,” he repeated when the boy told him his name. “I like it. Sounds badass.”
They continued grazing quietly for a few more minutes. The silence was not uncomfortable, but the red stallion could tell Zharko was becoming upset with his thoughts. He wondered if he was searching for the words to reveal what was on his mind, or if he was trying not to reveal anything at all. He finally blurted out a single statement, and Cinn felt something very angry within himself make an appearance, the same anger that had taken hold of him when he lost his herd to predators. It was not out of control, and he tried not to let it show, but it was uncomfortable in the way that it burned in his throat and his ears inadvertently pulled back. “I’m sorry,” he said, but the boy was pulling away and settling himself on the ground next to Cinn. The older stallion sighed. There was a cold breeze to the air, and he would lose heat quickly down on the ground, but Cinn was not one to tell anyone else what to do. Instead, he stepped into the direction of the wind and lowered himself to the ground as well. It wasn’t body heat, but at least he could block the wind from sucking the warmth out of the kid.
“I lost my brothers, too,” he said quietly, and didn’t elaborate, but he hoped Zharko would feel less alone knowing that fact. “I hope your brother is okay. I don’t know much about this place, but I had heard stories before coming here, and I know it’s a pretty big island. It’s not unlikely he washed up further down the shore, or on one of the surrounding islands.” He continued to nibble at the weak grass, but it was mostly an attempt to keep the atmosphere light. His stomach was sour with anger at Zharko’s father, and sympathy for the brothers. He didn’t want to admit it, but Zharko was very young, and it seemed to be a miracle he had survived the swim. But he had only hardly survived it. Cinnamon had dark thoughts about the fate of his brother, but he knew there was no sense in giving up before they even started looking.
“I’ll help you find your brother, if you want,” Cinn said after a long few moments of not speaking. “After what you’ve both been through, you have to stick together.”
