cinnamon
It seemed Cinnamon had interrupted the painted grulla’s grooming. They looked up at him in surprise, seeming not to understand that he had addressed them and not someone else - at least for a moment. The burnt red stallion wondered at their surprise, though perhaps they had been alone under the willow for long enough to assume there was more bustle on the other side of the curtains. Cinnamon could certainly empathize with this, as he had daydreamed many hours away in the quiet of the Bay.
I wasn’t hiding, I was just… hoping not to be seen, they said, and Cinn tilted his head curiously. He felt a bit guilty that his opening statement, intended to be mostly a joke, had come across as sober or possibly accusatory. He gave a warm chuckle, hoping to make evident that he was not to be taken too seriously. Cinnamon rarely even took himself seriously. "That’s fair," he said. "I can close my eyes, if that makes you feel better."
Sometimes, when Cinnamon said something a little too stupid, a quiet alarm rang in his head to let him know he may have gone too far. He heard this ringing now; something about the grulla’s demeanor was very solemn, and Cinnamon realized jesting may be the wrong way to approach them. They moved around him to exit the willow tree’s shade, and for a moment the red stallion and the stranger just looked at each other. Heat rose in Cinnamon’s face. He had most certainly made an ass of himself, and now the gold gaze and the dark face twisted to observe him were intimidating. He did not feel threatened, but he did feel like a jerk, and when their gaze finally broke he looked at the ground as well.
This time when the stranger spoke, Cinnamon took some time to respond. He watched as they approached the pool beneath the Falls and bent to drink. After a moment of quiet, he joined them at the water’s edge and asked, before bowing to drink as well: "Would you rather they didn’t leave you alone?"
The question was genuine this time, though he only half expected the stranger to answer. He drank from the cool mountain water and listened for their response, if they had one. He thought about what they said under the willow, that they had hoped not to be seen. Wasn’t it the same thing, to go unseen as to be left alone? Perhaps they were different. It was not a conflict Cinnamon had ever encountered as a stallion. He was not blind to the differences between the stranger and most others the stallion had met in his life, though he had never thought too carefully about the unique struggles that must inevitably come with not obviously fitting into one category or the other. Especially something like gender. He realized he must be lucky to never have to think about it.
"I’m sorry for the dumb joke earlier," he blurted. "Please don’t take me too seriously.“ He offered a sheepish smile. ”My name is Cinnamon. What brings you out to the Falls?"
stallion // 16hh // EE A+a nSty // of the Bay
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
