“What is your name?” she said to the horse, when she had done. The stallion was busy finishing her bowl. He slanted an ear at her before replying. I am called Solovey. Vasya smiled. “Nightingale. A little name for a great horse. How did you get it?” I was foaled at twilight, he said gravely. Or perhaps I was hatched; I cannot remember. It was long ago.
