Cinnamon was not entirely aware of Zharko’s aversion to the cold, but he had an idea that the colt did not love it. He had shivered so violently on the day Cinnamon had met him that to enjoy the long winters of Tinuvel, so soon after his brush with death, would have been unexpected to say the least. Still, he hoped Zharko would come to enjoy the island after spending the warmer seasons there, and at least this time he would not be alone. Or wet, most of the time.

Their pace was relaxed, as was their conversation until Cinnamon brought up Liland’s stance on claiming. Zharko halted, and Cinnamon looked over his shoulder for a few paces until he realized the yearling was not catching up. His expression was angry, something Cinn had not seen in the young stallion. He realized Zharko rarely expressed outward emotion. Cinn had come to learn that Zharko was affectionate in a very subtle way, invisible to outside eyes (or at least he thought this was the case). He took the simple fact of the colt’s decision to keep Cinnamon’s company to be evidence. But he rarely caught a facial expression or change of tone from Zharko, and witnessing both of those things now almost caused him alarm.

Zharko seemed to struggle to find the right words, and Cinnamon waited patiently for him to verbalize what was on his mind. He didn’t get the impression he was being attacked, but the red stallion had a habit of doubting that kind of thing nearly until the point of a physical assault. This time, however, it seemed he was right; Zharko evidently had an issue with claiming, but not with Cinnamon.

All at once, Zharko’s anger disappeared, and he continued on to join Cinnamon at his side for the remainder of their walk. Cinn did not feel the need to reassure the yearling of his own stance on claiming - it seemed he got it well enough on his own. Cinnamon only wondered what had brought Zharko to such a passionate aversion to the act. He wanted to ask, but thought the question to be not entirely appropriate, so he left it. "Everyone deserves a little mercy," was all he said.

When they reached the shore, Cinnamon paused, but Zharko marched forward without hesitation. The dappled red stallion followed closely behind, admiring the conviction the young man possessed. Not long after their hooves had left the sand of the ocean floor, it was rising up to meet them again as the stony shores of Tinuvel stretched out before them. Cinnamon stepped free of the surf and shook himself off, then turned to Zharko. Some novel instinct told him to go groom the yearling and help him dry off, but from their short time together, Cinnamon had grown to know Zharko quite well. He assumed the other would not care for a grooming, considering he was not a foal, let alone of Cinnamon’s blood. Instead the red stallion stood close by, offering his side once again for warmth if Zharko had been chilled by the swim. The sun’s light above them was weak and not very warm, but the snow on the island was nearly gone, and Zharko would warm soon enough even if he chose not to accept the extra body heat.

"Well, that wasn’t too bad, I don’t think," he said. He turned his dark crimson head toward the coniferous forest of the Bay. Oddly, something felt off, and he realized he could not smell Liland’s territory border. Instead, there were scents of another stallion. Had they come to the wrong part of the island? No, he thought. This was the same spot he had left just earlier that day.

"I don’t think Liland’s here," he told Zharko as they headed into the trees. Cinnamon’s pace was cautious, almost slow, and his ears remained alert and forward. "Maybe he’s on the other side of the territory."

"Dialogue"

she marks her fingerprints
in my skin
i breathe her perfume in
and it burns like heroin
now she's in me
and i can't let her go