Cinnamon watched as his approach was met with a tired but friendly smile which he could not help but reciprocate. He knew nothing about this stranger, but it made his heart ache to think that someone so kind should be suffering so greatly, and he took the few steps forward when she beckoned him closer. His eyes were unassuming and sympathetic, but he tried to act normally, offering his muzzle to the pale mare to exchange breaths in greeting. "I’m not much of a fighter, but I can offer some very sharp words to whomever may have caused you to hurt," he said, his voice light and playful, though not meant to take away from her troubles. He stood with her in silence, his head held low but his eyes cast up to watch her as she pondered.
When she did speak, it was in few words, but Cinn felt good nonetheless that she had opened up to him at all. I am torn in two. It was a familiar conflict to many, he thought unfortunately. He had felt that way about his decision to come to the Islands, though he was not quite sure how that compared to the struggles of the dunalino stranger.
"Yes, I have," he said, unsure if he should go into more detail and risk suffocating her troubles with his own, which were no longer even relevant. But he did not want her to feel alone. "I lost my family before coming to the Islands," he said in the end. "I can’t say I understand what you’re going through, and I don’t expect you to tell me. You don’t even know my name," he chuckled. "But no one deserves to feel torn." He bobbed his head solemnly. Where others might be more reserved, Cinnamon was an open book, ready to share his life with whomever asked.
"I hope that whatever you’re going through does not last." His words were sincere, but the lighthearted smile pulled on his lips again.
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
