"A Touch of Cinnamon (a)" by Becca Lusher

A gentle breeze rustled through the grasslands, sending waves along the green sea, chasing itself and others across the vast expanse of the meadows, dropping down into the river and rushing onwards again. The whole valley swayed to the power of the wind and water. Sitting by the riverside, her feet lightly splashing in the cool current, Cinnamon gazed out over the top of the grasses and into the world beyond. Idyllium was shrouded in summer, with a rich sky above the colour of cornflowers, and grass below the shade of spring leaves. All was perfect, idyllic even, yet Cinnamon could not feel part of it, unable to relax or feel at ease with her surroundings.

“Is there anything, do you think?” she mused, half dreamily as she played on the surface of the lazy river with a long strands of grass, using it to flick water in her sister’s face.

“Anything, what?” Saffron grumbled, opening her eyes and cupping her hand in the water to splash at her sister. “Stop that!”

With a sharp scream, Cinnamon gasped as the wave splashed against her bare skin, flattening her hair across her eyes. “Saffy! That’s cold!”

“Then you shouldn’t have splashed me, should you?” Saffron smirked, and lay back down again, her cheek pillowed on her arm.

“You’ll get stuck like that,” Cinnamon grumbled, chewing on the edge of her grass blade.

“Well the only way you’ll be standing up again is if you go through the river, so I don’t know what you’ve got to be smug about.”

Cinnamon narrowed her eyes at her sister, wishing that she did not always have the answer for everything. It was not enough that she had a coat the colour of gold, with skin and eyes to match, nor that she was the envy of the herd, she had to be intelligent and quick to respond to anything. Living in Saffron’s shadow was not the easiest part of Cinnamon’s life, with her deep ginger coat, light golden skin and dark eyes; she could have been anyone else in the herd.

“What were you saying before?” Saffron asked sleepily, her golden eyes shut as she basked in the sunlight, her pale mane falling like gold on the grass.

With a sigh, Cinnamon turned away from her; there was no point feeling jealous over something that could not be changed. Instead she focused on the high wall of mountains that surrounded Idyllium. “I just wondered if there was anything else, you know, beyond the mountains.”

Opening her eyes, Saffron raised an eyebrow at her sister, before she shifted to sit up, picking bits of grass from her mane and forelock. “Why would you want to know?”

“Just curious,” Cinnamon sighed, leaning her elbows on her knees, splashing her fore hooves in the water, delighting in the sparkling rainbows she created. “I often wonder if this is all there is to the world, if maybe there isn’t something else. Something more.”

“Why would you want something more?” Saffron wondered, her golden eyes considering. “We have everything we could wish for here. There is no need for anything else.”

“No.” Cinnamon sighed, realising that for her sister everything was perfect; hard not to find perfection when you were perfection itself. “I suppose there isn’t.”

“There you are!”

The sudden shout caused both girls to scream; Saffron lurched to her feet, carrying her so close to the riverbank that she had to rear and turn on her hocks not to get wet. Cinnamon was not nearly so lucky. With her front hooves already in the water, her natural reaction was to kick off with her hind legs, she skidded and powered into the river, carrying herself to the far bank with another fierce, indignant stride. Standing on the far bank, wet all over, she dripped and scowled ferociously at the young centaur, now down on his knees with laughter.

“You should ha-ha-have seen your f-fa-faces,” he gasped, finding himself short of breath as he clutched at his ribs and cried with his mirth.

“Hysterical, Dill, can‘t you see my sides are splitting,” Cinnamon grumbled, bounding across the river in an easy leap, making sure to slap Dill in the face with her dripping tail as she passed.

“Urgh, Cin, couldn’t you keep it to yourself?”

“No,” she replied sweetly, before shaking the remaining moisture from her coat, mane and tail, making sure to share her abrupt bath with him.

“Stop it!” he complained, shielding his face from the water.

“You deserve it,” Cinnamon retorted, wringing the last drops of water from her mane and tossing it back over her shoulder. “You got me wet.”

“Your fault for paddling in the river, isn’t it,” he grinned, climbing back to his feet, and wiping the last of the moisture from his face. “Ah well, you’re nice and clean now at any rate. Makes a change.”

“You’re a bundle of joy today, aren’t you, laughing colt,” Saffron noted, wiping the faint drops of water from her skin with obvious distaste.

“Well we can’t all be as perfect, witty and charming as you, Saffy, dearest,” Dill replied, fluttering his dark lashes at her, sweetly puckering his lips for a kiss.

“Want me to smack that for you, looks painful,” Saffron drawled, wandering straight past him and flicking her tail in his face.

“Great Gods, see this is why I love you fillies so much, you are always so polite to your male-folk.”

“Males?” Cinnamon gasped theatrically, clapping her hands to her face and gazing around with wide eyes. “Where? I can‘t see any.”

“Ha,” Dill sighed, following them as they made their way into the meadow, heading back towards the road. “Remind me again why I bother?”

“Because you love us, darling Dill,” Saffron called over her shoulder, winking at him, before she kicked up her heels and cantered away through the sea of grass.

“What’s with her?” Dill asked, trotting to catch up with Cinnamon.

That was the thing Cinnamon most loved about Dill - he was impervious to Saffron‘s charms. While the other males fawned and fell at her feet, Dill was just as likely to walk all over them and ask what the fuss was about. “Fennel’s back tonight, isn’t he?” she replied, watching her sister chasing the pheasants from the ground and laughing as the sunlight gilded her in gold.

“Oh yeah,” Dill grimaced at the thought of his older brother returning. “I’d forgotten.”

With a sly smile, Cinnamon shot a sideways look at him. “Of course you did, what with Nutmeg coming home with him, you’d be sure to forget that.”

Dill flushed, his nut brown skin darkening as he ducked his head and pulled strands of his black hair across his face. “I-is she?” he stammered. “I didn’t know.”

Cinnamon stamped her front hoof and snorted in amusement. “Yeah, and I’m a colt.” Shifting restlessly, she looked to where her sister was nearing the road, before nudging Dill with her flank. “Come on, you great donkey, I’m still a little wet, want to race me to the road to dry off?”

He shrugged and looked across at her, stifling a grin. “I don’t know -” He launched forwards, from a standing start, straight into a flat out gallop, “-if you’ll ever catch me.”

“Then why cheat?” she called out in indignation as she burst after him.

“To make you feel like you’ve got a chance!” he laughed, before both fell silent and focused on the all important task of running like the wind.

The grass all around them swayed like the waters of the Great Lake, and for a moment Cinnamon focused on following in Dill’s wake, allowing him be the one to beak down the fierce grass, letting it whip across his legs and chest, rather than her own. Instead she listened to the roar of the wind in her ears, the thunder of hooves on the ground, the slamming rhythm of her own breath and imagined it all fading away.

She was a bird, like the ones she saw diving down and along the surface of the lake. She was a wave dancer, swifter than the wind itself and light as air. Speed was nothing, because that was all she was. Fire pricked at her heels and seeing her moment, she swerved out of Dill’s wake, curving right when he went left, and circled around towards the road. For a moment the stinging slap of the grass brought tears to her eyes, then she cast her hands before her and parted the sea. With a cry of delight at the sheer power of her limbs and the freedom of running, she found her top pace and felt the ground vanish beneath her feet. It was like flying, only better.

With a thunderous finish, she clattered up the rise and hit the road, slowing herself to a canter, then a trot and finally a trembling, shaking walk as she met up with Saffron. The meadow behind her swayed and rustled as if it were in the wake of a storm, but the exhilarated Cinnamon did not notice, all she saw was Saffron, who gaped at her in horror.

“What did you do?” she demanded, charging forward and gripping her sister by the arm, shaking her angrily. “What did you do?”

Feeling her euphoric happiness suddenly plunge into nothing, Cinnamon stared at her sister and shook her head. “What do you mean?” she asked, wincing as Saffron shook her again, squeezing her arm so tightly that it hurt. “Let me go, you’re hurting me.”

“Oh no,” Saffron warned in a low voice, “I’m not letting you go anywhere, except home with me, right now!”

Dill trotted up to them, puffing hard as he tried to regain his breath, grimacing to see he had lost, and instantly took in the scene. “What’s going on?” he asked, puzzled and concerned.

“As if you don’t know,” Saffron turned on him angrily. “You fool! Didn’t you think before you challenged her to a race? Of all the stupid, idiotic things to do! You know what she’s like.”

“Saffy, stop!” Cinnamon pleaded, feeling her sister’s grip tighten yet further on her arm as she dragged her forward. “You’re hurting me, please, Saffy, stop. He didn’t do anything. I wanted to race. It was me!”

Saffron stopped advancing on Dill, her fingertip poised to jab his chest accusingly. Instead she turned her head and dragged her sister closer until their noses were practically touching, staring into her eyes to read the truth of her words. “Is this true?” she demanded, glancing at Dill.

“I -” Catching Cinnamon’s brief nod, he nodded too, sighing heavily, wondering if he should defend his friend more. “Yes, Saffron, it is.”

“In that case you’re still an idiot, but I don’t blame you. You, however,” she turned back to her sister, “you are in big trouble, Cinnamon. Let’s go home.” Finally releasing her, she stormed past, tail twitching angrily and set a steady walking pace in the direction of the village, where the herd always spent the summer.

Rubbing her injured arm, and battling not to cry, Cinnamon followed demurely in her wake, with Dill by her side, buried in a thoughtful silence. Hearing her gulp down a sob, and seeing her wince as she rubbed her arm, he took pity on her, leaning his head in close. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

Not daring to answer, she nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he added, shooting a pensive look in Saffron’s direction, but her ears remained steadfastly forward. “I forgot.”

“S’alright,” she hiccupped. “I forget too.”

“Still, sorry.” With a saddened smile Dill dropped back, not wanting to get either of them into any more trouble with Saffron; she was far more frightening than he remembered her being when she got angry. The sooner the others got home and calmed her down the better.

~ ~ ~

Dusty and tired, Fennel could not remember when any sight had looked more welcoming than the one of the summer village appearing below as he crested the rise. By contrast Nutmeg was positively joyous as she reached the ridge and reared up, kicking out her front hooves with glee. “Nearly home!” she cried in delight, her chestnut flanks shining in the afternoon light.

Fennel smiled wanly, glad that someone still had energy to spare, though he had to admit if he had enough left, he would probably be kicking out with joy too. It felt like forever since they had last been amongst their friends and family. Had it only been two moons? “Come on, you silly doe,” he teased, watching Nutmeg frolic towards the path, chasing butterflies, and prancing beneath the tree shadows, “pack that in, and let’s get this lot home.”

Skipping on the spot, she grinned over her shoulder at him, looking at the others they had brought back from their long journey. “All right then, I, for one, am in need of some home comforts. If I never have to sleep out on the hard ground again, it’ll be too soon.”

For all her foal-like dancing moments before, Nutmeg dropped back behind Fennel and was content to let him set the pace as he had done for the full expedition before. Glad that she still had some control left, Fennel shifted the quiver that cut across his shoulders and descended the ridge path through the tiny copse of silver birches. Emerging on the other side, he smiled as sunlight poured down upon him, with enough heat to wake even his exhausted muscles, while the sight before him filled his heart with memories and relieved happiness.

The dusty red earth of the ridge top was all but gone, fading the further into the valley they descended, replaced by dry scrub, and eventually the emerald grass that swayed below. The vista itself was breathtaking. Green spread as far as the eye could see, with soft, undulating hills rising and falling like a dropped cloak, and between them all threaded the silver ribbon of the river, having tumbled down from the mountains and spilled out from the lake. The lake glittered and winked in the sunlight, beckoning them closer with its promise of cool, silken caresses and deep, thirst quenching refreshment. And on its bank stood the village.

Smiling, Fennel stopped briefly to drink it all in, hearing Nutmeg halt beside him in silence, and knew she too was remembering the familiar feelings of home.

“This it?”

Gritting his teeth, Fennel tossed his head, flicking his forelock from his eyes and glared at the male who had spoken. “Yes,” he half growled, “this is home.”

Icy eyes flickered down across the view, seemingly taking everything in with just one glance. “Hmm,” he mused, tail flicking sharply as his back hooves shifted, indicating his impatience.

About to demand what he meant by that, Fennel clenched the muscles of his jaw ready to finally confront the other male, but Nutmeg carefully backed herself into his side warningly. “Oh my, look at the sun,” she said with feigned surprise. “Best be getting on, eh, Fen? Long way to go and all that.”

Fennel narrowed his eyes at her, then nodded, recognising the pleading glint in her eyes; sometimes her diplomacy drove him to the edge of distraction, but she was usually right. “Aye, Meg, let’s get home. There are some parts of this journey I am eager to be done with.” His words were aimed at the impatient male, who simply stared at him with bored eyes. With a haughty toss of his head, Fennel flicked the flies from his back with his tail and continued the journey down towards the lakeshore.

Nutmeg followed, shooting a warning look at the dark male as she passed, but he simply shrugged, unbothered, and beckoned the others to follow him.

~ ~ ~

“You’re a fool, a stupid, brainless filly who doesn’t care what she does, who she hurts, or what the consequences of her actions may be!”

Cinnamon stood beneath the tirade, her ears flattened back against her head, arms folded, hands clenching her elbows as she bit her tongue, tried not to cry, or stand up for herself. She was not sure which one was worse, the first would be humiliating, the second disrespectful. That was a sure way to earn the lash.

“Do you have any idea what you could have done?”

Suddenly her head snapped up, and she glared back at her dam, eyes blazing. “No, Damma,” she replied quietly, but firmly. “How could I?”

“Think, foal, think!” Ginger-dam shouted at her.

“How can I, when I have no idea what I am supposed to have done? You shout at me, and rage, and tell me off, lash me, starve me, send me to work in the fields, but you still won’t tell me what I am supposed to have done wrong!” She stamped her hoof hard with exasperation. “What did I do?” she yelled back, knowing she was not only stepping over the line, but jumping all over it and erasing it from the dirt as well.

“Don’t you dare shout at me, you disrespectful foal. Just you wait until your sire gets back, perhaps you’ll listen to him.”

“I would listen to you,” she continued stubbornly, “if only you would explain what I did.”

“You should know,” Ginger-dam replied, huffing slightly as she stared at her youngest daughter, unable to understand how she could be so stupid and so blind. Never, in all her years as a dam had she faced a foal so foolhardy and bull-headed.

“But I don’t,” Cinnamon half-growled, throwing her hands up in disgust. “I cannot change my behaviour, curb it, stop it, avoid it, whatever it is, if I don’t even know what it is! Tell me, then I might understand.”

“You are not here to understand.” Ginger-dam stamped her hoof forcefully, swishing her tail and glared at her child. “You are here to obey!”

“No, Damma,” she replied quietly. “How can I obey when I don’t understand?”

The crack sent her reeling, fire blazing along the line of her cheek, making her stagger in surprise and shock; she had hit her! Staring wide-eyed at her dam, Cinnamon trembled all over, unsure whether she should be cowering in fear, or screaming with indignation. She held her tongue, deciding it was the best course of action.

Ginger-dam stared back, trembling herself, with her fists bunched by her sides. “Why won’t you listen, Cinnamon? You always drive me to actions I know I will regret, yet you leave me no other choice. Why? Why must you do this?”

Unable to hold back her tears any more, Cinnamon clutched her cheek and snorted angrily at her dam. “Because you leave me no other choice. If I cannot understand, then I cannot obey. It is you who leaves me no choice with your whispers and secrecy.” Turning on her hocks, she fled from the tent, straight into someone both taller and stronger than her.

“Cinnamon?” a familiar voice she could not quite place said incredulously. “Great Gods, filly, what is going on?” He held her by the arm, unwittingly pressing on the bruises that Saffron had created earlier.

“Get off me!” she screamed, unable to see anything through the haze of her tears as she shoved away her would-be attacker, and backed up sharply.

“Cinny, it’s me,” the voice said, soft with concern as he left go of her arm.

Blinking, she looked up and recognised the familiar hazel eyes, squinting faintly with tiredness. “Fennel?” she said, wiping her tears fretfully away from her face, seeing Nutmeg and a group of strange centaurs all watching her. “I - I didn’t know you were back, I - I’m sorry.” Not leaving him time to react, she twisted out of his reach and galloped away from the village and them all.

Fennel watched her go with a deep frown etched upon his brow, confused and surprised both by the welcome, and the things he had overheard. Had Ginger-dam really hit her own filly?

Nutmeg wandered up next to him, her own eyes following her fleeing cousin. “What was that all about?” she mused.

“I have no idea,” he sighed, shaking his head. “But you can bet my brother will know. Come on, let’s settle the guests, and then we can go ask him.”

~ ~ ~

It was dark by the time Cinnamon dared return to the village, quietly stepping down through the shadows and wishing they would swallow her whole. Silhouettes of dancing figures told her of a great celebration going on, clearly marking the long-awaited return of Fennel and Nutmeg, not to mention welcoming their strange new guests. Cinnamon had no idea why they had even gone in the first place. All she really cared about was the fact that everyone should be busy, allowing her to sneak into her own bed unnoticed.

She would be in trouble with her sire come the morning, but she did not really care, she would not be able to handle the angry looks of the elders, and the sympathetic glances of her friends. It would simply frustrate her, knowing that they all knew what was going on, while she remained perpetually in the dark. Besides, she had a bruise on her cheek, and finger shaped marks on her arm that she would rather not have to explain.

Creeping carefully, she made her way slowly around the edge of the high barn, clinging to the shadows, and watching the shapes cast by the feast fire. Entranced by the flickering oranges and yellows, she almost did not hear the voices before she blundered into them.

“But what did she do?”

The sound of Fennel’s angry whisper brought her up short, and she shrank back against the barn wall, hoping that he would not come any closer.

“I don’t see why I should tell you,” came the reply. Saffron’s voice, hard and annoyed, it surprised Cinnamon; if she had not have known better she would have said she detected a hint of jealousy in her sister’s tone.

“Because I asked, Saffy. Please, what did she do?”

Saffron huffed a heavy sigh, and peering around the edge of the barn, Cinnamon could see her sister turned away from Fennel, her head held high with haughty arrogance. When Fennel put his hand on her arm, however, she melted slightly and stared at him over her shoulder. “You know what she can do, you remember all the things she used to do when we were foals.”

“Of course I remember, and I know,” he replied quietly, shifting closer to her, his shadow all but eclipsing Saffron’s, “but does she?”

“Does it matter?” Saffron asked, stamping her foot angrily and moving away from him again. “She’s a dangerous little spark, which needs putting out. It is best that she doesn’t know, easier to get rid of that way.”

“Saffron!” Fennel cried out, his voice sharp with amazement. “You can’t mean that, your own sister?”

She glared at him, her face in shadow as she had her back to the flames. “Of course I don’t mean that,” her voice with gruff with regretful emotion, “but I do mean something should be done, removed, smothered. She’s dangerous, Fen, and it scares me.”

Making soothing noises, Fennel moved forwards and wrapped his long arms about her, cradling her head against his chest. “It scares us all, sweetness, but don’t you think she deserves to be told, allowed to understand? Wouldn’t that make it easier on her, if she knew what she’d done wrong? Rather than having everyone shout at her for something she cannot control?”

With a fierce shove, Saffron drove him backwards, pulling herself out of his arms. “What’s wrong with you?” she snapped. “Are you on her side?”

“There are no sides here, Saffron,” he replied wearily, and Cinnamon began to feel sorry for him, even if he did know something she did not. “We all want what is best for the herd, for Idyllium, but we have to think what is best for Cinnamon too.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Saffron sighed, rubbing her temples and pulling at her ears as if in distress. “I thought you cared for me, Fen.”

“I do.”

“Then stop sticking up for my sister!”

Cinnamon took a step backwards in amazement, losing them from view as she clutched her own ears in confusion. Saffron was jealous, but why? Whatever did the Golden Mare, beauty and perfection in all that she did, have to fear, envy even, from her little sister? It made no sense.

Fennel was talking again, his tired voice soft and soothing. “Someone has to, Saffy, and if you’re not going to do it, then perhaps I should. She loves you, Saff, looks up to you. How hurt do you think she is when you get angry with her, and she can’t see why? How would you feel if I suddenly turned on you, grabbed your arm so hard that it bruised? Or if your mother slapped you across the face for something you couldn’t understand?”

“I bruised her?” The anger in Saffron’s voice vanished, replaced by an appalled whisper. “I marked her?” Fennel did not say anything, but he must have responded in some way, because Saffron gave a sob. “Oh Gods,” she gasped, her voice suddenly muffled, and Cinnamon peered around the corner again, seeing Fennel holding her sister tightly. “I’m turning into a monster. Poor Cinny. I didn‘t mean to do it, Fen, but I‘m just so scared. I don‘t know what to do.”

“I know, Saffy,” he sighed, rubbing her back soothingly. “I know.”

“I’m so glad you’re back, Fen, I don’t know what I would do without you?” Sobbing in his warm embrace, Saffron wrapped her arms about him, holding him tightly as if frightened he would suddenly vanish again.

Pulling back, Fennel took her hand and smoothed the hair away from her face, before they wandered off back to the fire and the others, smiling and sharing sweet, meaningless words. Cinnamon stopped listening, instead she continued to clutch her pounding head, feeling weak at the knees as she tried to gain an understanding about what was going on.

“A fine mess she worked herself into, wasn’t it?”

The dry, drawling voice made Cinnamon jump so much she thumped into the barn wall, twisting to look behind her, but could see nothing. “Who is it? Who’s there?” she demanded, trying to still her thumping heart and suppress the instincts that ordered her to run.

Smiling, an unfamiliar centaur stepped out of the darkness, the flickering firelight picking out his strange, fierce eyes. His coat was completely black, explaining why she had not been able to see him before, while his skin was a rich, deep, walnut brown. Although he smiled, it was not altogether friendly, and Cinnamon could not stop her heart from racing fearfully.

“Fear not, little one,” he whispered softly, moving to stand beside her, peering around the corner to see what she was looking at, “I won’t hurt you.”

Instinctively her hand reached up, tracing the still aching side of her face, and the sharp bruises on her arm.

He saw both movements, and flicked a black eyebrow. “Which is more than can be said for your own family.”

Instantly defensive family pride welled up within her, dousing most of her fear as she stamped her hoof angrily and tossed her head. “Hold you tongue, sir, on matters you do not understand.”

He watched her little display with amusement, a warmer light kindling in his ice-like eyes. “You are hardly in a position to dictate such things, little one,” he laughed, “especially when you have no understanding of the peril you are currently in. I, at least, understand that.”

She suppressed a growl of annoyance, barely, and looked back around the corner, smiling slightly as she rested her head against the wall and watched Fennel with her sister.

The dark male watched her watching them, his eyes freezing over again. “I begin to understand why he was so impatient to return home.”

Cinnamon smiled, hearing the distaste in the male’s tone; clearly he did not think much of Fennel. “It was the first time they had really been separated for any period of time. They’ve been a pair for as long as I can remember.” Smiling softly, she realised how stupid Saffron’s jealousy really was; Fennel was just like a big brother to her, she could never see him as anything else, like Dill, just a friend. She had grown up so close to both of them she was amazed they were not actually related.

“And how long is that?” the male asked, breaking through her reverie.

“What?” She frowned, glancing up at him, slightly annoyed that he was intruding on her solitude and silent reminisces.

“As long as you can remember,” he reminded her. “How long is that?”

She scowled. “Not long enough, according to most.”

Again he smiled, turning away from her and pricking his ears up, hearing someone approach. “Never mind, little one,” he muttered softly, almost distractedly. “One day your memory will outlast theirs. Farewell for the present, I must return to the festivities before I am missed. Mint will wonder where I am else.” He took two steps forward, before he glanced over his shoulder at her. “I’m Tarragon.”

“Cinnamon,” she replied, slightly confused by him.

“I know.”

Wondering what he meant by that, she watched him saunter back to the fireside, taking up a protective stance beside a pale, dapple grey male, whom she could only assume was Mint. The haughty lift of Tarragon’s head, and the glossy shine on his black coat made Cinnamon roll her eyes, seeing the females of the herd swoon in his presence. He was such a rare shade, and, if she let herself think it, a fine specimen, yet the icy eyes flickered over each admirer without interest. Clearly he knew how magnificent he was, which only made Cinnamon think less of him.

“Arrogant bull,” she snorted, noticing that only two females were impervious to his charms; Saffron and Nutmeg. Finding this highly amusing, she trotted across the open space, sliding into the concealing shadows and headed towards her own bed within the family barn. It was good that her friends were home safely, not even the shadow of what her sire would say to her in the morning was enough to dampen her warm mood. Whatever happened, would happen, worrying about it would have no power to change it.

Thinking such thoughts, she settled down on her grass and hay bed, lying on her side with a groan and rested her head on her feather pillow, softly scented with violets and lavender. Breathing in deeply of their relaxing scent, she shut her eyes and let all the worries of the world fade away. She was the wind, nothing mattered except the open sky, and the world beyond.

~ ~ ~

“No, Tarragon. You are not going in there. Stop. Stop!” Saffron’s irate voice jolted her from her dream, and with a start, she shifted to sit up, seeing the black centaur from the previous night towering over her.

“You must come with me,” he ordered in a low voice, “now.”

Saying nothing more, he turned and stalked out of the barn, leaving a furious Saffron glaring after him, while he did not even spare her a glance. “He is the most arrogant, intimidating, infuriating, bull-headed male I have ever met. No wonder Fennel almost drowned him in the lake yesterday afternoon. It was a pity he failed. Next time I shall be sure to help him succeed.” Her tail swishing more like a cat than a centaur, Saffron turned to her sister, her golden eyes softening slightly. “I’m sorry he woke you. I tried to stop him coming in, after all, it’s rude to enter another’s home uninvited, but he was having none of it.”

“It’s all right,” Cinnamon told her, more to get her to shut up than for any other reason, her head spinning slightly and aching as if with a relentless onslaught of information and light. “I was awake anyway,” she lied, heaving herself to her feet and feeling decidedly weak-kneed. There was something in Tarragon’s towering menace that had the power to terrify her, and all he had to do was look at her.

“Oh,” Saffron stopped in her ranting, looking faintly disappointed. “Okay then. Well, I suppose you best do as he says, before he comes back in again and I have to resort to kicking him. Hardly good treatment of guest, but that works both ways, or so I think. When you’re done with whatever he has planned for you, sire wants a word.”

Cinnamon’s heart sank as the events of the previous day reasserted themselves in her mind, chasing all but the barest fragments of her dream away. “All right,” she sighed, stretching her legs and arms and groaning at the stiffness in her limbs. “Do you know what he wants?”

“Search me,” Saffron shrugged, clearly not listening as she combed her mane and braided it with daisies, “I don’t understand these strangers. Neither does Fen. Be careful, all right?” With that final warning, which was hardly heartfelt, she pranced out the door, revealing the dark shape of Tarragon waiting for Cinnamon beyond. Her heart sinking further, Cinnamon shook the hay dust from her coat and gave her mane a cursory comb with her fingers, before she too ventured out into the daylight.

“Morning.” The haughty male greeted her with a stiff nod. “Follow me.”

The visitors had set up camp on the outskirts of the village, with brightly coloured tents of a soft fabric Cinnamon had never seen before. “Silk,” Tarragon explained when he saw what she was looking at. “Made by the worms in the mountains on the far side of Idyllium. Near the Northern Mountains, so high that they tear the clouds out of the sky, or so they say.” The imagery he portrayed was not done any justice by his voice; calm, flat, almost bored. She wondered why he even bothered to say it if he felt nothing for it.

“Is that where you’re from?” she asked, trying to work out a little of the enigmatic male.

He half smiled, though his pale eyes were as cold as always. “I am from nowhere, little one, yet everywhere at once. No place can deny me a home, and yet I possess nothing. Come along, Mint is waiting for you.”

His words brought out shivers on her bare skin, and she rubbed at the goosebumps on her arms, thoroughly unnerved. What did he mean by that? Shaking her head to clear it of the residual ill-feelings that Tarragon provoked in her at all times, she followed him into the darkness of the pale green tent. To her astonishment, in the gloom beyond, she watched Tarragon fall to his knees and cross one arm across his chest with his head bowed. He always appeared so aloof and arrogant that she could not believe he would show such deference to anyone.

“Honourable Mint, I have brought the young filly to see you, the one you requested. Cinnamon.”

Feeling that meant she was to approach, she tentatively wandered over the soft ground, carefully folding her knees in the same way Tarragon had and bowed her head, hoping she was doing the right thing. “You called for me, Lord?”

Hard, laboured breathing reached her ears and she flattened her own in response, knowing it to be the sound of an elderly centaur grasping onto the final threads of life. It was not seemly for such a centaur to be looked upon, yet pale, almost ghostly, legs stopped before her, while a hand rested on her bowed head. “I am not all done in yet, young one, simply tired by my journey. Rise, I cannot bend as well as I once might have done, and I would look upon your face.”

Glancing aside to Tarragon, she searched for some help as to what she should do, but the black male had risen and all she could see were his legs. Careful not to move too quickly, she shifted her weight and cautiously climbed back to her feet again, keeping her head bowed respectfully.

Laughing softly, a cold hand touched her chin and slowly lifted her face upwards. “I said I would look upon you face, filly, I cannot do that if you insist on staring at my hooves.”

She flushed and met the most extraordinary eyes she had ever seen; they were green, pale, soft, mint even, explaining his name. They matched the rest of the strange features of the most unusual group of centaurs she had ever encountered.

“That’s better,” Mint murmured, his pale eyes staring straight into hers, and beyond, but what he saw there Cinnamon had no idea; she felt exhausted by the time he released her and looked elsewhere. His eyes flickered over her body, the gaze sliding off her like water, taking in the bruises on her arm and the faint tremor in her legs. “There is nothing to fear from me, young one, I am not here to be angry with you.”

“Then why are you here?” she asked softly, wishing there was more strength in her tone.

He smiled enigmatically, then shook his head. “Would you care to accompany me, young one, I must take a morning walk, and it would be nice if I had someone local to show me around? Tarragon knows many things, but that cannot make up from a lifetime, however short, in one place.”

His smile was so tempting, sweet and friendly that Cinnamon found she had no excuse to refuse. “Of course, Lord.” Bowing her head, she backed out of the tent, while Tarragon held open the flap for her, before she turned around.

“Please,” Mint said as he moved alongside her and took her arm in his, “call me Mint, it is my name, and Lord makes me feel so old. Besides I own nothing of worth to grant me such a title.”

Cinnamon smiled; she could not help but like him. “Very well, Mint it shall be. Come on, I’ll show you the lake, if you’re willing.”

Mint nodded his head in agreement. “The lake sounds like an excellent choice, and easy enough for my ancient limbs, I suspect.” He shot her a faint wink, and they moved off.

As they walked Cinnamon tried to imagine what they looked like, the ancient, slender grace of the old male, his iron grey coat dappled and heavily diluted by age, his white hair and pale skin gleaming in the sun, walking with her. Small, plain, boring old Cinnamon, with her gingery tinted coat, white socks on her back legs, and a stocking on her right front, with her dark brown mane and tail and golden skin; nothing special. Yet she walked with a grey and a black, both shades rare to the point of non-existence in Cinnamon’s herd and the ones nearby. What made her special enough to warrant the attentions of these mysterious strangers? She was certain she was not the only one to ask such questions. Unfortunately, she also suspected she was the only one without even the slightest clue as to the answer.

Walking along in the warm morning sunshine, Cinnamon pointed out all the things of interest in the world she had grown up in, and a lot that was not of interest, but she felt she had to say. Childhood memories were spoken to the sunshine, tales of races, games, bruises, tears and laughter, but if Mint minded he never said anything, nor stopped her from speaking. Entering the oak woodland, Cinnamon’s favourite place around the lake, she spotted her sister and Fennel up ahead.

“Ah,” Mint sighed when she paused for breath, “it is my wonderful former guide, and the one they call the Golden Mare.” When Cinnamon turned her head to stare at him in amazement, he laughed. “Yes, young Cinnamon, your sister’s beauty has spread far. She is quite famous, and young Fennel is the envy of many.”

At this comment she glanced over her shoulder to where Tarragon was following them in silence, but he gave nothing of his own thoughts away.

“They have known each other since they were old enough to leave their dams’ sides, there has never been anyone else in my sister’s life but Fennel.”

Mint smiled sweetly, his pale eyes distant. “Ah, young love, such a delightful gift given to all too few I fear. Will you introduce me to your sister?”

Surprised, Cinnamon nodded. “Of course, but have you not met her already?”

“I have met no one from your herd, young one, only yourself, and my two travelling companions. Alas, I was too weak from the long journey last night to be introduced to anyone, though the feast was very nice,” he added, hoping Cinnamon would not feel offended on behalf of her herd.

She was not, she barely even spared it a thought, before she stopped and shouted out, “Saffron! Fen! Good morning!”

Having been absorbed in each other’s company to the exclusion of all else, with Saffron braiding love knots into Fennel’s mane, and he resting his head on her lap, both jumped in surprise at Cinnamon’s shout. She could not be sure, but she would have sworn their comical response drew a faint chuckle from Tarragon’s stern features. However, by the time she turned to look, his face was a blank mask once more, and he raised an eyebrow at her for looking at him.

“My Lord Mint,” Fennel greeted, lurching to his feet and walking to meet them, “it is a pleasure to see you up and about, I trust you are well from our long journey.”

Mint smiled and clasped Fennel’s wrist in greeting. “I am perhaps not as young as I would wish to be, young Fennel, but I am whole apart from that. Stiffness and tiredness can often be cured by a leisurely walk in the sunshine. Young Cinnamon has been introducing me to the delights of this small corner of Idyllium. And here is the most famous one of all.” He smiled as Saffron rose to her feet and joined Fennel, blushing from the compliment.

“Lord Mint, allow me to introduce my bond-mate, Saffron.”

Cinnamon’s eyes widened to the point where she thought they might fall out as she stared at her sister. It had often been implied and everyone expected it, but not so soon, or in such stark terms. Saffron was just as surprised it seemed, but hid it better. Instead she looked up at Fennel and gripped his hand in delight.

“Bond-mate, eh?” Mint mused, a sly smile on his face. “You have broken many dreams and hearts across Idyllium, I fear, Fennel, but allow me to be the first to congratulate you. Assuming of course that the lady is willing.”

Saffron blushed again, but this time from delight as she threw her arms about Fennel’s neck. “Oh yes please,” she gasped. “Yes, yes, of course I‘ll join with you.”

“I think that’s a yes,” Tarragon muttered dryly from behind the happy group, and Cinnamon shot him an annoyed look, startled when he winked at her.

“Congratulations,” Cinnamon told them both as Mint clasped a joyous Saffron’s hands and kissed her on each cheek, then her forehead, then on both of her palms, in the traditional blessing.

“May your union bind you together in love and happiness, and may it be fruitful and sweet,” he told them both and they bowed to their knees with thanks. “I am pleased we took this walk this morning, young Cinnamon,” the old centaur told her with a smile. “Come, we shall leave these young ones to tell their families while you show me more of this delightful place.”

Before he could drag her away, she hugged her sister and Fennel, wishing them every happiness, while Saffron tucked daisy behind her ear. When they wandered off, hand in hand, to tell everyone their news in a blissful daze, Cinnamon grinned at Mint and trotted back to his side. “I always expected it, we all did, but not this soon. It is good.”

“Perhaps it will take the attention away from you,” Mint told her wisely, a warm yet wicked glint in his soft eyes.

Cinnamon raised an eyebrow, but could not help smiling. “If I knew you better, Lord Mint, I would say you had planned this just for such an effect.”

Even Tarragon smiled as the old male took her arm and shook his head with mock gravity. “Dearest youngster, it shows how you do not know me at all to believe such a thing of me.”

“My apologies, I should not assume that everyone is like myself,” she chuckled, before showing him around the rest of the north shore of the Great Lake.

~

Whether by intention or not, Mint’s intervention did indeed take the attention away from Cinnamon, so much so that when she was finally summoned to meet with her sire it was simply to ask her to be Saffron’s flower-filly at the joining ceremony.

The next few days passed swiftly for the whole herd, not only for Cinnamon, who found she had barely a single moment to think, let alone to herself, as she was swept up by Saffron’s effusive happiness. Needless to say she did not even see Mint, let alone have a chance to ask why he had requested her presence that morning, nor why Tarragon had been so intent on getting to her - or why he had seemed so angry. While Mint was not visible, Tarragon was, but only ever at a distance. It was almost as though he was shadowing her, and Cinnamon soon grew very uncomfortable about it.

“Meg,” she asked quietly one afternoon, needing to approach the subject with someone, and knowing Saffron was too distracted to be of any use, “can I ask you something?”

Looking up from where they were both collecting flowers ready to be woven into crowns for Saffron and Fennel, Nutmeg tipped her head to one side, causing the cornflowers they had playfully braided into her hair to fall across one eye. “Course you can, Cinny, what’s the matter?” She brushed the flowers out of her eyes with a faint smile.

Slightly nervous, Cinnamon coughed and looked about; seeing no one, she scratched her ear and asked, “You know Tarragon? Well, does he seem a little odd to you?”

Nutmeg smiled. “He’s a lot odd, that one. Why?”

Cinnamon frowned, fighting down the heat that was swiftly rising to her face. “No reason. Do you know anything about him?”

“Not really,” Nutmeg shrugged, “I don’t think anyone does. All I know is that he’s Mint’s personal bodyguard, the only one truly entrusted with the old one’s safety. He’s in charge of all the others. Stubborn, arrogant, bullish and seems to go out of his way to wind everyone else up.”

“Yes, I got that last bit,” Cinnamon chuckled.

“So,” Nutmeg grinned and leaned forward, “why the sudden interest?”

Against her will, Cinnamon felt herself begin to blush. “No reason, just curious.”

“Oh yes, curious, of course.” Nutmeg nodded knowingly. “But I will warn you he’s had a fair number of advances, and he’s turned them all down - flat. He wasn’t rude as such, just tactless. He doesn’t seem to care much for other people’s emotions.”

“Cold,” Cinnamon nodded, “I picked that up from the rare occasions I’ve had to deal with him.”

“Oh?” Nutmeg’s dark eyes twinkled. “When was that?”

Cinnamon scowled at her. “You know precisely when, the morning Fennel and Saffron announced their union.”

“Oh, yes, silly me, I must have forgotten,” she chuckled wickedly. “But you made it seem like you’ve dealt with him on more occasions. Not hiding anything, are we, Cinny?” She poked her in the ribs, making her shriek and swallow a scream.

“Pack it in, Meg! You know how ticklish I am.”

“Then tell me what secrets you’re hiding.”

“I’m not hiding any,” she half growled, grabbing hold of Nutmeg’s hand and stopping her from tickling with more intent. “Look, all right, all right, I’ll tell you, just stop it!”

Smiling with triumph, Nutmeg let her go and sat back expectantly. “So?”

Frowning and uneasy, Cinnamon looked around again before leaning forward, and whispering, “Do you ever get the feeling you’re being watched?”

Nutmeg raised an eyebrow. “I thought this was about Mr Black Mood, not overactive imaginations.”

“This is about Tarragon - I think he’s following me.”

“What?” Nutmeg hissed, looked around, then burst out laughing. “Don’t be daft, he’s got his hands full looking after Mint, why would he follow you about?”

Hurt by Nutmeg’s obvious hilarity, Cinnamon sighed, and stared at her hands, letting her forelock fall over her eyes. “I know, that’s why I don’t get it. Why is it that almost every time I turn around he’s there, somewhere, usually in the distance? It doesn’t make sense.”

Realising she had hurt her, Nutmeg bit her lip and carefully swept Cinnamon’s hair away from her face. “Sorry, Cinny, didn’t mean it to come out quite that way. Maybe he likes you.”

Cinnamon screwed up her face in a childish grimace and shook her head. “I doubt it, he doesn’t seem to be the type to like anyone.”

“Well, you never know, something has to go on behind those eyes of his,” Nutmeg mused, the flowers falling forgotten on the ground between them as both rested their chins in their hands, their elbows on their knees, pondering the mysteries of males.

“Have you ever seen eyes like that before?” Cinnamon asked.

Nutmeg shook her head. “Never, but then I haven’t seen any like Mint’s either. Let’s just face it, they’re a weird bunch.”

Chuckling, Cinnamon could not help but agree. “I haven’t met any of the others, are they as strange?”

“Nope, they’re reasonably normal,” Nutmeg assured her, and returned to collecting flowers with a sigh, weaving a few more into her daisy chain that she had been working on sporadically. “Which makes a nice change around this place.”

“Ha!” Cinnamon laughed, with mock indignation. “Speak for yourself!”

“I do!” Finishing her daisy chain, Nutmeg threw it onto Cinnamon’s head, getting it over her ears so that it rested across her forehead. “Suits you.”

“Cheers,” Cinnamon grinned and gathered the rest of her flowers into her basket, shifting the daisies away from her eyes, before they both got to their feet and headed back towards the road and home.

They were still a fair distance from the village when pounding hoof beats made them turn around. Black coat and dark chest glistening with sweat, Tarragon thundered towards them at high speed, slowing to a trot and eventually stopping as he reached them, still gasping for breath.

Cinnamon glanced at Nutmeg, who looked surprised, but had more wits about her than her younger cousin. “Well met, Tarragon, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

He nodded at her, still breathless, and did not answer, he simply straightened up, ears pricking, before he fretfully stamped at the ground. Within the space of three heartbeats the females heard what had attracted his attention; a faint trembling of the earth, growing steadily louder and closer. “Off the road,” he told them both, his voice a deep, husky rumble.

Frowning and confused, they both followed his example and stepped into the high grasses that surrounded the dusty track. A cloud of dust heralded the appearance of a small group of centaurs, all from Mint’s unfamiliar herd. One of the strange males, his coat a dark brown, made black by sweat, saw them and slowed down, while the others raced onwards. Nutmeg and Cinnamon shielded their eyes from the dust, grateful that they had followed Tarragon’s order. Coming to a stop in front of them, the strange male gasped for air a moment.

“What is it, Juniper?” Tarragon demanded.

Juniper gulped and managed to regain a small measure of control over his breathing again. “Trouble, edge of the valley, Mint sent us to find you and go deal with it.”

Tarragon’s icy eyes sparkled, and he glanced at the two females with a frown. “Go on ahead, I have to escort these two back to the village.”

“We’re fine,” Nutmeg told him, sounding annoyed. “We know this valley better than any, and we’re almost back to the village. We’ll be fine. What kind of trouble?”

Both the males were shifting slightly, both clearly itching to get on and deal with whatever the threat was. To Cinnamon’s amazement, Tarragon did not appear to be listening to Nutmeg at all, instead he was staring fixedly at her. Both ignored Nutmeg’s question.

“You heard her, Tarra, they’ll be fine. Come on, Mint says we don’t have long.”

“But…” Tarragon hesitated, glancing at Juniper and back to Cinnamon.

“Great Gods, are you mad?” Juniper all but exploded, as much as his gasping lungs would allow anyway. “You can’t bring her, do you want to break the threads completely?”

“What if we can’t deal with this?” Tarragon asked him in a quick whisper. “She might tip the balance for us.”

“She will,” Juniper snapped, stamping his front hoof fiercely, “in the wrong direction. Nutmeg,” he turned and nodded at the older of the two females, “go home, take her straight to Mint, and don’t let her leave until we return.”

“But -!” both Tarragon and Cinnamon said at the same time.

Juniper did not even look at Cinnamon, just glared at Tarragon. “Time is getting away from us, Tarra, will you make us defy you on this?”

Nutmeg and Cinnamon both raised their eyebrows as Tarragon hung his head and shook it, looking every inch the contrite yearling. Lifting his gaze to the two females, his ice eyes were a bright sky blue for the first time. He jerked a nod at them. “Go home,” he muttered, then wheeled away and set off in pursuit of the others.

“Remember what I said,” Juniper said to Nutmeg, again not looking at Cinnamon, before he too turned and galloped away.

“Well now,” Nutmeg mumbled, still faintly stunned by the strange turn of events, “that was interesting, and no mistake. Come on, Cinny, let’s do as they say and get you to Mint, as soon as. Great Gods, but there’s never a dull moment around you, is there?”

Cinnamon smiled faintly, and followed her cousin as they turned for home. “Now do you believe he’s been following me?”

Nutmeg nodded, securing her flowers so that she would not lose any. “I see what you mean, filly. And it’s mighty strange. I’ll see what I can find out for you, but for now, come on, kick your heels up, lass, else we’ll be in trouble. Don’t know about you, but just then I found Juniper even more scary than Tarragon. I‘d rather not be on the wrong side of either.”

“Gods forbid!” Cinnamon laughed and broke out into a long striding canter, wishing that the feeling of foreboding in her chest would vanish as easily as the road beneath her feet.

~ ~ ~

Faint voices talking in hushed whispers broke through the haze of Cinnamon’s dreams and she opened bleary eyes, staring around at her strange surroundings. A covered oil lamp threw faint shadows on the canvas walls, and she remembered where she was - Mint’s tent, still waiting for Juniper and the others to return.

“You’re a damn fool, Tarragon,” a low voice was whispering, and Cinnamon lay still to listen without being noticed, shifting her face slightly so that she could see the two figures that were blocking the light. “You could have been killed, if what Juniper tells me is true. Didn’t you think? We’d be lost without you. It should be you staying in this tent with a guard, not me.”

“Calm down, Mint,” Tarragon’s voice was soft, a bored drawl, barely a whisper.

“Calm down?” Mint’s hushed voice was fierce and angry, surprising Cinnamon. “I don’t see how me being calm is going to be of any use here! Juniper told me you were going to take her, to the -” He stopped mid-sentence, one grey ear flicking in Cinnamon’s direction.

Fearing she had been caught, she lowered her eyelids and shifted slightly, muttering faintly as if lost to dreams, while watching from beneath the veil of her lashes. Mint glanced over his shoulder at her, even went so far as to turn around and peer closely at her face, checking whether she was awake or not. Cinnamon calmed herself and deepened her breathing, but almost revealed herself when she saw Tarragon.

His glossy coat was slick and glistening in the shrouded lamplight, his chest slashed and torn. Blood covered him, from the cuts on his face to the deep gashes across his shoulder and back. He looked awful. One of his bright blue eyes was so swollen he could not even open it, while the other one had nearly been gouged out, if the deep cut that ran across it was any indication. Now that she looked more closely at him, she could see he was favouring his left hind, the injured limb hanging loosely just above the ground, which was wet with dark liquid. His hindquarters were criss-crossed with scratches and she was glad that she could not see all of his chest.

“Hmm…” Mint mumbled and turned away again, allowing her to open her eyes fully and stare incredulously at the mess before her. “We shall have to be careful, I had forgotten she was here. We don’t want her waking and hearing something she should not.” He shifted to stand before Tarragon again, picking up his cloth and returning to cleaning as many of the injured male’s cuts as he could.

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” Tarragon agreed, his good eye glancing in her direction and she knew he could tell she was awake. Despite the pain he must have been in, he managed a faint smile for her, before he turned back to Mint’s attentions.

“I don’t like the look of this, Tarragon,” the old centaur was saying, but what he was looking at, Cinnamon could not tell. “These could be infected. They won’t stop bleeding.”

“They’ll be fine,” he said calmly. “You know I’ve taken worse and survived.”

Mint grunted. “But for how much longer, eh? Did you ever think there might be a limit to these things?”

“Thought about it, yes,” Tarragon nodded, lifting a blood stained hand to look at, before he traced one of his palms with a slick finger, “worried about it? No. There is no point, Mint. We are all designated a day to die, mine may be no different to yours. Who knows when it will be?” He shrugged and rubbed his palms together. “Tomorrow, tonight, years from now, I do not know it, nor can I change it, just walk to meet it as best I can, doing the duty I was given. In the meantime I will continue as I always have, someone must protect our borders. That was what I was born and raised to do, after all.”

“I thought you were Mint’s bodyguard.”

For a moment Cinnamon glanced around the tent in surprise, wondering who had spoken, as Mint and Tarragon both turned to look at her, then she realised the question had come from her. “Oh.”

Mint shook his head with a wry chuckle. “Didn’t think you were as asleep as you should have been.”

Sheepishly, she sat up and ruffled her hair. “Sorry, I wasn‘t trying to eavesdrop.”

Tarragon shook his head, while Mint smiled. “Nothing to apologise for, young one, we’ve all been curious from time to time. No harm done. But now you are awake, as you can see the others are back. You can go home now.”

She blinked, surprised to be dismissed as she hauled herself to her feet, feeling the sleepiness in her limbs that were yet to fully wake. “Wouldn’t you like some help?” she asked, waving her hand to indicate Tarragon’s injuries.

“A healer, are you?” Mint enquired, his green eyes watchful.

“I… well… no,” she replied slowly, “but I could help, if you showed me what to do.”

Mint raised a white eyebrow, and looked to Tarragon, but he shook his head, and said, “There is nothing for you to do here, Cinnamon. Go home and rest.”

“But -”

“Home,” he repeated firmly.

“But what happened to you? What‘s going on? And why won‘t anyone tell me?”

Infuriatingly Mint smiled, but Tarragon continued to look grave, and shifted to face her, revealing the full extent of the marks across his chest. It looked as though some great beast had grabbed his right shoulder and raked across his front, leaving six deep, embedded scars to bleed and fester, ending at the bottom of his left ribs. His stomach was slashed also, but less deeply.

“Cinnamon.” His quiet voice drew her eyes back to his, the one that could still open that was. “Enough now. Mint can take care of anything I need. You must sleep. This is no place for you, or for your questions. Maybe tomorrow, after your serfilly’s ceremony.”

“Go,” he told her again, and she frowned at him.

“I don’t like secrets,” she warned him, knowing that she had no more excuses to stay.

“Neither do I,” he told her, before turning back to Mint. “Get her out of here, would you?”

Smiling ruefully at them both, Mint took a step towards her, his arms and chest covered in blood, but none of it his own. “Come now, Cinnamon, you will do no good here.”

“But I could help.”

“There is no need for you to,” Mint told her kindly, holding out his arms to hustle her away, his mere advancing presence enough to make her back out of the tent. Without realising it, she was suddenly outside. “We will see you tomorrow, young one, mayhap we will finally have a chance to talk at leisure.” With that, he pulled the flap across and by the hush and sigh of material, she assumed he had tied it closed.

Finding herself on the outskirts of the village with only the stars for company, and the faint night song of the frogs by the lake to listen to, she stamped her back hoof with frustration. “Damn.”

~ ~ ~

The ceremony passed without any trouble; the entire herd turned out to smile and sigh with delight as the two young centaurs bound themselves together for life. Cinnamon and Nutmeg walked before the happy couple, strewing rose petals and poppy seeds for love, fertility and luck. Yet, like the newly joined couple, Cinnamon’s mind was on anything but the ceremony that took place before her unseeing eyes.

While Fennel and Saffron were bound tightly up in a world of two, Cinnamon found herself fighting one of confusion, with never ending questions that were asked without hope of answers. She had not slept any more the previous night, unable to get the interrupted conversation of Mint and the terrible wounds of Tarragon to leave her mind. Then there were the words of Juniper - “You can’t bring her, do you want to break the threads completely?” What threads? Somewhere in the back of her mind a faint itch began, almost like an answer trying to escape, but try as she might she just could not find it.

Her lacklustre mood went largely unnoticed amongst the festivities, which Mint gladly presided over as the oldest centaur present, and was joined by two of his strange attendants. Having not seen either of them before, they did not catch Cinnamon’s interest, instead she looked for Tarragon, or even Juniper, but neither appeared to be at the ceremony, or anywhere else for that matter.

Not everyone was so caught up in the romance and hope of the morning not to notice what was going on around them, however, and as the herd moved towards the feast lunch, Dill cornered her. “What’s wrong with you?”

Surprised, she had not even seen him follow her, she blinked at him in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“You look like your tail’s been plucked. I thought you‘d be glad to be out of Saffron‘s shadow.”

“I do not,” she grumbled, “and I was never in Saffron’s shadow, I could never compare to her, nor have I ever wanted to. I am happy for them, they deserve each other and the joy they’re having.”

“But?” Dill wondered, knowing her far too well for her liking.

“It’s got nothing to do with them, or this ceremony, or anything, to be honest,” she sighed, wishing he would leave her alone.

“So what does it have to do with then?”

She hesitated, wondering how much she could tell him, how much would make sense, or whether he would just think her mad. Worse, he might laugh at her like Nutmeg had done. “Dreams…” she said slowly. “Dreams and questions.”

Dill frowned. “What sort of dreams?”

“I don’t know,” she growled, frustrated with herself more than anything. “I know I keep having dreams, and I know they’re important, but I can’t remember what they are!”

He bit his lip, trying not to smile at her annoyance. “What about the questions then?”

“Oh, I can remember them,” she told him, quirking a faint smile at his attempt not to laugh. “I know, sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“No more than usual,” he assured her with a wink. “So, what sort of questions?”

“Oh,” she rolled her eyes and raised her hands in a hopeless gesture, “where do I start?”

Before he could tell her, Nutmeg came trotting up to them both. “There you are, everyone’s waiting for you. We can hardly start the feast without the younger siblings. Come on, buck up the pair of you, I’m starving.”

Knowing there was no escaping the feast, Cinnamon sighed silently and followed Nutmeg as she turned back towards the village. Dill fell into stride beside her. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“All right,” she nodded, but knew that they would not. How could they when she had no idea what to say, or even where to begin describing the confusion she was in?

~ ~ ~

Darkness shrouded him as he woke, chilled sweat clung to his skin and coat. Where am I? He lay as if paralysed, his legs stiff and unyielding as he tried to move. All he could do was blink one eye, feeling cold moisture trickle from his forehead, fogging his limited sight, and his head ached as slowly sensation returned to haunt him. His face stung as salt sweat traced the contours of his skull, running over his closed eye, making his skin crawl. What happened? The flesh across his chest was tight and tingling, his hindquarters shivering, and with a jerk his limbs were released from their frozen state.

Gasping for air he sat up, folding his legs beneath him, wincing as his left hind throbbed agonisingly. Using the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat from his face and pressed a sweating palm to his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat slowly begin to calm. Touching his face, he felt his swollen eye and steadily began to remember. “Mint,” he muttered, recognising the tent he was lying in, and with a groan he sank down onto his side again. “Great Gods, let me rest,” he whispered, before closing his eye again and willing sleep to take him.

Lying silent, he found his ears picking up sounds he had previously been ignoring, and began to hear music and noises of celebration. The joining ceremony, he realised, sighing and pulling his ears down, trying not to listen to the joyful sounds.

A hoof fall outside the tent told him that sleep was not going to come again, and he sat up, seeing the shadow hovering outside. “I’m awake,” he called. “You can come in… Juniper,” he greeted as the familiar centaur opened the heavy flap.

Limping slightly, the big bay male inched into the space, lowering himself gingerly to the ground beside Tarragon, a black eye marring his face along with a deep, long slash across his left cheek. More scratches littered his chest, but none as deep as Tarragon’s had been. “How are you feeling?” he asked gruffly.

Tarragon snorted faintly. “I haven’t tried to find out yet.”

Juniper grinned, wincing as it pulled on his scab. “Good idea.” He paused, thinking carefully about what he was going to say, before deciding to continue, “They’re celebrating the union, that’s why it’s so noisy. I’m surprised you weren’t awake before.”

“I know.” Tarragon nodded to the information. “And I suspect Mint fed me some of his concoctions, which would explain why I‘ve only just woken. I remember next to nothing about last night.” He rubbed lightly against his chest, feeling the deep wounds already healing, frowning when they were less healed than he had come to expect. “What time is it?”

“Mid-afternoon.”

“Great Gods,” he sighed heavily, rubbing his face and hissing as he touched scars and bruises. “I hate healing.”

Juniper laughed. “I think I would give anything to heal the way you do. Anyone else would have been dead from such wounds as you took.”

Tarragon grimaced, tracing the line of his cheek where a tiny scar that had almost taken his eye was practically healed into nothing. “You can have it anytime, but there’s a price.”

“Aye,” Juniper agreed with a firm nod, “and I wouldn’t want that. You can keep it, and we’ll just follow wherever you lead. I’d rather have you there to help, than have that healing ability and have to lead myself.”

With a snort, Tarragon laughed faintly. “Thank you, I think. Strangest compliment I’ve ever been given.”

Grinning, Juniper shrugged. “I’m not one of your smitten fillies, so what do you expect?”

“Speaking of fillies,” Tarragon mused, not laughing at Juniper’s jesting, “did I dream it, or was Cinnamon in here last night?”

From the uneasy way Juniper was shifting, Tarragon got his answer. “Mint told me about it this morning, but we don’t know how much she heard.”

“I don’t even know how much I said,” Tarragon sighed.

“From what Mint told me, you didn’t say much. It was him who was talking, letting the cats out of the bag, so to speak,” Juniper told him.

“Someone will have to talk to her soon, before she finds out on her own.” Tarragon muttered. “We need her on our side, I wish to the Great Gods you had let me take her yesterday. It would have answered so many questions.”

“Don’t start this again,” Juniper growled. “We could argue over this until the sun faded and the sky turned purple, but I would still say you’re a fool, Tarra. She isn’t safe to take near them, not yet, not until we know what she can, and can’t do. For all we know, they’ll get her on their side!”

“Which is why we need to talk to her first,” Tarragon told him softly. “When you next see Mint, tell him it is time, and bring Cinnamon. We cannot keep her in the dark any longer.”

“They’ll all be busy with the union until later,” Juniper growled faintly as he hefted his weary body to his feet, knowing when he’d been dismissed. “I’ll tell him, but I still think you’re a fool. How long were you kept in the dark before you found out?”

Tarragon smiled. “Not long enough, I’m sure, but then I didn’t have my nature hidden from me by all those around me.”

“She dangerous, not just to herself or the herd, but to the whole of Idyllium, perhaps even the world!”

“Which is why we’re here, Juniper, and why we will talk to her. Ignorance makes her dangerous. Knowledge might save us all.”

“Or kill us,” Juniper muttered mutinously as he limped to the opening of the tent.

“Even so,” Tarragon agreed, “but we still have to tell her, or she will kill us all, regardless of who talks to her first.”

~ ~ ~

Evening was gathering when the celebration finally subsided enough for Cinnamon to escape. Checking that no one had seen her, she headed down to the lake, cantering swiftly into the relative shelter of the oak grove, where she wandered beneath her favourite and familiar trees. “You wouldn’t keep your secrets from me, would you?” she asked them, running her hands over their rough bark and touching the low leaves, revealing the fresh acorns, fast growing in their cups.

Somewhere overhead the larks were singing, and she smiled. For all the madness of the past few days, it had been good to celebrate in honour of her sister and Fennel. Now it was finally over, perhaps things might return to normal.

Lost within her thoughts and wonderings, she did not see Juniper until she almost blundered into him. “Evening, Cinnamon.”

“Oh!” She halted abruptly, backing up sharply, finding herself about to step on his hoof. “Sorry, I was miles away,” she muttered, embarrassed as she tugged her forelock and right ear.

“So I see. Do the larks have anything interesting to tell you?” His dark eyes glittered with amusement, and she suddenly felt a lot less stupid.

“Plenty,” she grinned, “but nothing I can share.”

“Alas,” he sighed, and clutched his chest as if wounded, “you’re cruel, filly, so cruel.”

She giggled, deciding that when he was not racing around in a temper, she quite liked him. “Can I help you?”

Juniper nodded, walking closer to her and emerging into a beam of evening sunlight, highlighting his fresh scars. “I have a message from Mint.”

“Oh?” she asked, studying his wounds and frowning; he was limping, he should not even be walking, let alone running errands, in her eyes anyway.

“And from Tarragon,” he added, dark eyes watching her carefully.

This time her eyebrows rose in amazement, along with her voice. “Oh?”

“Yes,” he smiled, walking past her towards the lake shore, trusting her to follow. “They have things they wish to discuss with you. Answers,” he added, peering over his shoulder, “to some of your questions.”

“Oh.” She turned to follow him, having had her attention snared. “Where?”

“Mint’s tent, as before.”

“Thank you.” She was practically skipping as she caught up with him, wondering if he wanted to escort her there, and hoping not as his limping pace was too slow for her curiosity to take.

“No problem. They’re waiting for you now, if you want to go and see them, you don’t have to wait for me.” He exaggerated his limp for a few strides, making Cinnamon laugh again.

“Don’t!” she told him sharply as he almost tripped. “You’ll make yourself worse. Take it steady, you shouldn’t even be up yet, let alone chasing after stray fillies.”

“Aww,” he complained, “but I like chasing fillies.”

“And I’ll bet that’s where you got your injury then,” she grinned. “That’ll teach you.”

“Alas it was not,” he sighed pitifully. “And I doubt that it would.”

“Incorrigible rogue.”

“Let’s hope so.” Shooting her a wink, he then slapped her rump. “What are you waiting for, lass? Go on, get!”

“All right!” she told him indignantly, jumping as he hit her, and whipped his hand with her tail. “But do that again and I’ll break your other leg.”

Before he could retort, or slap her again, she sprang away from him, more deer than centaur and raced through the trails of the grove, back to the lakeshore, and onwards to the village and the collection of tents beyond.

Heading straight for Mint’s tent, she hesitated outside, wanting answers desperately but afraid that once again she would not be told what she sought. Shifting restlessly, she was debating whether to stand and make her presence known, or turn and flee, when Mint’s voice called from inside, “Come in, young Cinnamon, no need to stand on ceremony here.”

Having been caught, she tugged on one ear and pushed through the tent flap into the gloom beyond. Mint was sitting down, Tarragon beside him, both watching her as she entered. For a moment she was silent, then she looked at Tarragon. “You! But - you - last night - now… healed. How?” she stammered out, confused and slightly frightened by the well healed scars slowly disappearing from his chest. He looked as though he had been recovering for at least five, maybe even six moons.

To her surprise Tarragon glanced down at his chest a little self-consciously, rubbing the deepest of the six gashes, and frowned slightly. “They should be gone by now,” he sighed. “Perhaps I am hungry.”

Mint snorted beside him. “I should think so, you haven’t eaten since yesterday, and you lost a lot of blood. You’re a fool, Tarragon, but you’re already aware of that.” Heaving himself to his feet, he pointed to a space. “Make yourself comfortable, Cinnamon, I will be back shortly.” He then left.

Feeling awkward, Cinnamon shuffled to the indicated spot and carefully lowered herself down. Again she tugged at her ear, wanting to look at Tarragon some more to try to see how deeply he had healed, but embarrassed about being caught staring.

“It’s all right, you know,” he told her softly, sensing her discomfort. “Everyone reacts this way, the first time they see it.”

Frowning, she glanced timidly up at him, forcing herself to meet his eyes and not look anywhere else. “But how?” she asked. “Last night, well, anyone else I would expect to die of such wounds, or at least sleep for many days, perhaps not even move for a moon. Yet…”

“I know, it makes little sense to most, but then I don’t make much sense either, so I suppose I am well suited to my abilities.” He had lost her, he could see it in the way she was squinting slightly and tugging at her ear, not laughing at his joke. He sighed heavily. “I am no good at explaining these things.”

“What things?” she asked, faintly exasperated that she wasn’t understanding any of what he was saying. He was hinting at many things, but nothing in particular, and it was driving her to distraction.

Tarragon chuckled softly, rubbing his chest again as if it pained him, then he met her eyes. “Tell me, Cinnamon, what do you know of the creation of Idyllium?”

She tipped her head to one side. “I know that the Cloud-Shaper made us, and the Star-Weave wove life into us, while their children - Rock-Singer, Fire-Speaker, Wind-Runner and Life-Water - made the mountains and the world in which we live. I know the story of the five seasons, and how they protect us, why?”

Tarragon blinked, faintly surprised, but by what, Cinnamon could not tell. “And the threads, do you know about them?”

Again a faint tug at the back of her mind, something that might have been an answer, pulled at her, but she shook her head instead, unable to find that hidden information. “No, but I’ve heard others refer to them. What are they?”

“Incredible,” he breathed, shaking his head and looking away from her. “How could they have raised her in such ignorance? Did they think that by hiding it from her she would not become what she has?”

“Who?” she asked, a tight knot of fear in her stomach telling her that he was talking about her. “Tarragon, please, talk to me, explain what is going on? Why are you even here? Why were Fennel and Nutmeg sent to find you? It’s because of me, isn’t it? The reason why everyone is so frightened by me and what I can do? All the things that they won’t tell me, you know them, don’t you? Tarragon, please,” she begged, desperation creeping into her tone, “answer me!”

Again he blinked, his icy eyes melting slightly for a moment and she thought she caught a hint of pity in his gaze, before he blinked again and it was gone. “You have many questions, little one, do you trust me to answer them all?”

“I don’t trust anyone anymore,” she half-whispered. “But if anyone can answer me, then it might as well be you. You seem to know far more than you’re letting on, and you’re strange enough to understand what no one else can. So yes, I suppose I trust you to answer my questions.”

For a moment he smiled, a proper smile for a change, with warmth rather than reserved detachment. “I’ll try to take that as a compliment… somehow.” His smile faded and he grew serious again. “But in answer to your questions, yes we are here because of you. Fennel and Nutmeg were sent to find us, mainly Mint because of his powers as a healer and a seer. They did not know who they had summoned when I came along too.”

“You’re not Mint’s bodyguard, are you?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head. “No, not really, though I am in charge of his safety. Of everyone’s safety. Even yours.”

Cinnamon tugged at her ears again, before burying her face in her hands and groaning faintly. “I don’t understand.”

“Sorry,” Tarragon muttered, though he sounded sincere. “I told you I was no good at this. Mint is far more eloquent, but he cannot answer even half of the questions I know are swirling in your mind. Unfortunately you will just have to put up with me.”

“Great,” she sighed, lifting her head again. “So who are you?”

“Ah.” He smiled again, rueful, rubbing at his swollen eye, which was little more than a bit puffy now. “Good question. Can I have another one please?”

Her curiosity sparked into life instantly, while forgotten images sprang to mind; sitting in a grove of beech trees, staring up at an ancient, white centaur - Snowdrop - Granddamma. “You’re the grand-foal of Snowdrop, aren’t you?”

This time it was his curiosity that sparked and flared into being, and for the first time she saw life in his blue eyes, as he leant forward intently. “How do you know of Snowdrop?”

Cinnamon frowned, amazed at the change in him. “I- I don’t know,” she stumbled over her words, trying to work out where the images came from and what she was talking about.

“What do you know of Snowdrop, then?” She shook her head, watching the light fade from his eyes as he sat back and sighed. “Can you tell me nothing?” he wondered.

She shrugged. “There is so much I don’t know, probably all I could tell you would be nothing.”

That tugged a smile from him. “As little as it will mean to you, yes, Snowdrop was my Granddamma and she taught me almost everything I know.”

“About?”

“The threads, the Gods, Idyllium, and beyond.”

Again her curiosity was sparked. “Beyond? You mean there is a beyond, something more, on the other side of the mountains. There is more to the world than what we see?”

He tipped his head to one side and regarded her carefully. “Now why would you want to know that, I wonder? What could possibly lead you to look beyond the mountains?”

“Hopeless curiosity,” she told him with a slight smile.

“You’re certainly hopeless, and more than a little curious,” he conceded with a slight shake of his head. “But there is more to this. Much, much more. We’re getting sidetracked. You’re supposed to be asking me questions, one’s that I can answer,” he warned her, seeing she was about to ask about him again, or beyond the mountains, or something else as equally difficult. “You want to know about yourself, and what is being hidden from you. Let us stick to one topic at a time, yes?”

Having been sitting up, full of questions about the exciting life he must have led, and the tempting glimpse of something beyond, she felt her good mood quashed, and sank back down again, deflated and disappointed. “Fine,” she muttered.

“Well,” he smiled after a small silence, “where are all these questions you were dying to answer?”

“Got chased off by better ones,” she told him.

“You’d best get them back then, while I’m here to answer them for you. There might not be another opportunity.”

“Are you leaving?” She wondered why the thought filled her with dismay, and decided not to dwell upon it.

He did not answer. “Come on, ask your questions.”

About to point out that she had just asked one, she did not get a chance as heavy hoof falls thundered up to the outside of the tent, and Tarragon lurched to his feet. “Tarragon! Tarragon!”

Cinnamon did not recognise the voice, but she heard the urgency and faint strains of panic.

“Bay,” Tarragon greeted as the tent flap was pulled open and a large male stood beyond, his chest glistening with sweat in the dying evening light. “Great Gods, what’s the matter?”

“Attack,” Bay gasped. “On the northern edge of the lake.”

“So soon? They never attack this close together.” Tarragon growled, then swore, which earned raised eyebrows from Cinnamon, before he pulled a quiver and a bow from beneath his bedding and slung them both over his shoulder. “Show me,” he commanded, and Bay quickly reversed out of the tent, Tarragon following him.

Determined not to be left out this time, Cinnamon struggled to her feet, but was stopped at the entrance.

“Oh no,” Tarragon told her firmly. “You’re staying here.”

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“No time to explain. Stay here.”

“No.”

“Cinnamon,” he growled warningly, sounding like her sire. “Do you ever do as you’re told?”

“Not if I can help it.”

He looked thunderous for a moment, before crossing his hands swiftly across his chest. “Bind,” he ordered and suddenly the fading light of day was cut off, leaving Cinnamon in the dark, staring at the dropped flap of the tent.

“Hey!” she shouted, charging forward only to find that the silk was as firm and unyielding as a locked barn door. “You can’t leave me here!”

“Watch me,” came the faint reply, before she heard him gallop away.

She gave an angry scream of helpless frustration, before kicking out, sending the bedding on the ground flying. “This isn’t fair!”

No one answered, and she realised she was well and truly caught in the tent. Snorting in annoyance, she began to search the edges, looking for the weak areas where the stakes had been hammered into the ground, but there were none. Whatever it was that Tarragon had done with his order, it worked like a charm and she was bound. “Bloody males, that’s the last time I trust anything with blue eyes.”

Pawing impatiently at the ground near the entrance, she sank down and all but gave up, muttering and mumbling a long list of complaints, and things she would do to Tarragon when she saw him next. Unconsciously, her hand drifted to the torn up earth and she played with the dirt in her hand. Looking down at it, she sighed, her mind drifting back to the confusing conversation she had been holding.

Tossing tiny stones and dust in her hand, she threw it against the secured flap petulantly. “Great Gods, but I wish I had the power of the Rock-Singer, I’d soon bring his boulders to free me.” Her searching fingers found a decent sized stone, and she dug it out, before throwing it at the flap. “Send the rocks!” she demanded, watching the stone hurtle easily through the material, which turned into a solid wall when she tried to follow. She screamed, getting to her feet and stamping all four hooves in increasing exasperation. “Gods! Rock-Singer, send the rocks! Get me out of this bloody place!”

The ground beneath her shuddered violently, and she stumbled, forced to spread her legs like a newly-wean foal to keep balance. For a moment all was still, and she felt her limbs trembling from both her outburst, and the strange, coincidental earthquake, before chaos erupted.

The ground jolted beneath her and this time she was thrown to her knees, her hands in the dirt as she struggled not to fall further. Thunder rolled all around her, crashing and crunching outside in the world she could not see, before something burst through the side of the tent. She screamed, stuck to the ground and unable to flee. Unable to see what it was, or avoid it, she felt the object hit her side on, and thumped into the ground, winded and aching. Her vision swam and she closed her eyes to fight the nausea, feeling more and more things strike her, until one collided with her head and she fled into unconsciousness.