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Songbirds by Kristine Kathryn Rusch The rain was hard, and cold, the village a welcome sight. Reynaldo had been riding for days without seeing any signs of civilization --and he had thought that good. If he were to find the Songbirds, he believed he would find them in this wilderness at the very edge of the kingdom. But even the best hunter welcomed a respite after days of unrelenting rain. The village was as dismal as the weather: small hovels with little more than a door, the occasional house, and finally, at the end of town, an inn that looked like it had seen better days. At least it had a stable. He dismounted and looked for a stablehand. Seeing none, he led Cara to the only stall. He would have tended her himself even if there had been a stablehand. She was the only pure white horse in the kingdom. He never let anyone else touch her --only his brushstroke cleaned her coat, only his hand fed her, and he cherished the small nuzzle she would give his shoulder, or her soft sighs of contentment. They were his best reward
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