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“What I need is for your mother to have thought a little harder nine months before your birthday.”
The irresistible ocean sucks around his hooves. But still he looks over his withers at me and he wails, again and again. The hair on my arms stands with his call. I know he wants me to go to him, but I can’t go with him where he needs to go.
He is slow, and the sea sings to us both, but he returns to me.
