More stories come, some better than others, and the hag contemplates. This game of word play, this dance of lyrical intricacy is coming to a close, and though the horses may not understand what this had to do with a companion, the old hag knows. Effort put into this task translates into effort put into raising the abandoned egg. The poor creature did not deserve his fate, his mother should raise him and not a horse, but since his mother is not available a horse must do. And if a horse must raise him, it will be the best horse, and the best horse only.
Reaching down to touch the mute child, hearing his story in her mind again, she lets the rest tell their own in time. “One more, horses,” she caws, reaching the egg out as though she is taunting them. They can have it… if they really want it. Suddenly, without warning, she turns around and flails, throwing the egg towards the pit of flames that was the main landmark. Cackling, she watched its arc carry it towards the flames, wondering what the horses around her would do. It was always so… interesting.
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