“His head was throbbing. Images whirled in frenetic confusion: circles and triangles and squares and angles and weird symbols he only halfway understood. To escape, he sought his favorite refuge. Sweet hay and the richness of oiled leather mingled with the pervasive scent of the horses to concoct an aura of welcome that embraced him like an old friend. The resident mouser, a huge ginger tom, lounged in a patch of sun. He acknowledged Angusel’s presence by opening one golden eye the merest fracti...on. The striped tail thumped once. As Angusel stooped to stroke the cat’s head, he was rewarded with a loud purr. Straightening, he gazed down the line of stalls. Most of the horses were gone. Since the afternoon sky carried no hint of rain, the horsemen of the Second Manx Turma were out drilling with their mounts. The draft animals were toiling in the fields. Too late for planting and too early for haymaking, their work at this time of year involved hauling logs and rocks for the construction of buildings and fences.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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