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complaining

Stables of Hope

The sand and dried-out soil from the sun kicks up in my face walking towards the stable entrance. Not a breeze, nor a stir in the trees allow for relief. Noises from rakes scraping old hay from the floors reverberate. Empty feed buckets filled with alfalfa charm the mares, who

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Stables of Hope

The sand and dried-out soil from the sun kicks up in my face walking towards the stable entrance. Not a breeze, nor a stir in

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