Cinnamon Sticks and Cider [Cinna]

A part of his duties as Sentinel, was checking on the newer members, to see how they were settling in, and whether they needed help with anything. Today, with morning rising frosty and crisp with winter chill, he padded across the plains, scanning for the woman Aurielle had described.

He carried with him a rolled bison hide, hair on and shaggy, lashed to his back over his armor, cloak rustling around his thighs as his breath swirled in puffs around him. Finally, he found a scent that matched the one Aurielle had worn when she’d brought the woman home and met him later, and began following it, snuffing out now and then.

His nose told him in no uncertain terms that winter was the season of this woman, Cinnamon’s, birth, so he made note to check if she had any need of herbs for whatever discomforts she might be experiencing.

Finally, he spotted his quarry, recognizing the described ruddy brown coat and spotting the marks of dark brown and nodding before calling, “Excuse me, Cinnamon, wasn’t it?”

His bi-chocolate tail waved gently in the air in greeting as he paused at a respectful distance, having circled to be upwind, giving her ample warning of his arrival, and keeping her season’s scent out of his nose. Both were marks of respect one should give a woman.

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think