‘Ruta,’ I said, ‘I think I am going to leave all this and learn to fly.’ He stood in a loose-box beside a freshly groomed colt — a young colt gleaming like light on water. There was a body-brush in Ruta’s hand, its bristles intertwined with hairs from the colt. Ruta removed the hairs with slow fingers and hung the brush on a peg. He looked out the stable door into the near distance where Menegai shouldered a weightless cloud. He shrugged and dusted dustless hands, one against the other. He said, ‘If it is to be that we must fly, Memsahib, then we will fly. At what hour of the morning do we
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