Peony looked at Jean's stallion, Storm. It was a fine horse indeed. She went over to Surefoot's stall and fed the mare her apple. "I wish I could say Surefoot here was a horse of the Riddermark, but alas she was bred in Minas Tirith."
Peony stroked Surefoot's face. "Not one of the fine Rohan horses, but she has been a true friend to me for many years."
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"Let us live so that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry." - Mark Twain
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