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... t the beautiful chestnut mare, hardly believing my luck. After everything I’d endured - the beatings, the starvation, the degradation - I’d expected to walk. To stumble along behind the group like the burden I clearly was - like I’d done with the slave traders.

But someone had brought me a horse. A gentle-looking mare with kind eyes and a glossy coat.

"She’s yours for the journey," one of the warriors said gruffly, not quite meeting my eyes. "Name’s Maple. She’s well-tempered." < ...

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