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The school bus shuddered to a stop at the crossroads.
“Bye!” she called, jumping down and racing up the narrow lane, her hair swinging untidily behind her.
Mum’s battered car wasn’t home and Dad was working over in the far field. So she dropped her bag on the doorstep, and ran straight over to the stable block. It took a moment before she could see the shape of the mare standing there in the warm hay-scented darkness.
“Good, good girl,” she said.
The mare snickered softly and moved aside to show her. Less than an hour old, the foal lay on the straw, blinking its long lashes.
The mare whinnied, lowered her nose and nudged at the small creature. Slowly, awkwardly, the foal struggled up to its feet until it stood there in shy surprise, balanced on four gangly legs.
That was when . . .
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