Without another word, he headed for a pair of horses at the front of the line. The first was a sleek, black stallion, prancing and tossing its head. At a glance, Shea could tell he’d be a handful. Willful, spirited, and probably temperamental. No thanks. Her eyes went to the second. She couldn’t quite call it a horse. It could best be described as a short, furry pony, with a barrel chest and thick stocky legs. It chewed enthusiastically at a piece of grass at its feet. Compared to every other mount out here, it was the ugly step cousin of horses. It didn’t belong at all. Fallon immediately
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