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Centaur  |
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Dayzar by Mary Dixon
(A horse of impeccable character.)
I stood on his back and dug my toes in his bare brown coat. I plucked worms from the apples, my teeth edged with the green. I reached high into the branches until his skin rippled a burly tide. I used to drop apples beneath his legs, sweet offerings.
what makes the marks on his forehead the Pleiades of orchards in summer?
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