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."
"No spirit is ever going to talk to you, Burrfoot," Gisella
laughed. "At least not while I'm available as the preferred party."
"You shouldn't joke about such things, ma'am," Woodrow said
softly. "Spirits don't like that."
"And I don't like this discussion," the dwarf said
uncomfortably. She held a hand out, palm up. "I think the rain is
beginning to let up. But it's getting too dark for travel." She
steered the horses off the road to the right and jumped from the
buckboard. Taking the horses by the bridles, she led them away from
the road to a clearing that was partially screened by a high hedge of
red-leafed bushes.
"Feed the horses, will you, Woodrow?" she instructed, walking
past them to the back of the wagon. "And keep an eye on Burrfoot. I'm
going to find someplace to take a bath." The front of the wagon
pitched up suddenly as Gisella stepped inside.
Dutifully, Woodrow slid from the wagon and unharnessed the
horses. Pulling a burlap bag of dry grain from under the seat, he
crooned softly to the animals and petted their silky noses. They
nuzzled his hands affectionately. Setting the bag on the ground, he
dipped both hands into it and pulled out two fistfuls of grain. The
horses nibbled eagerly from his open palms.
When each had finished a handful of grain, Woodrow said, "I've
got other chores that need tending, my friends." He set out enough
grain for the horses' dinner and called, "Enjoy your food. I'll bring
you some water later
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