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She had a hand twisted in the horse's long mane, and as, lithe and supple, she slipped a knee across his broad back she shook a little gantleted fist at Bostil's gray racer. "Sage King, I hate you!" she called, as if the horse were human. "And I'll beat you some day!" Bostil swore by the gods his Sage King was the swiftest horse in all that wild upland country of wonderful horses.
The head was indeed that of the wildest of all wild creatures a stallion born wild and it was beautiful, savage, splendid, everything but noble. Slone thought that if a horse could express hate, surely Wildfire did then. It was certain that he did express curiosity and fury. Slone shook a gantleted fist at the stallion, as if the horse were human. That was a natural action for a rider of his kind.
Slone shook a gantleted fist at the stallion, as if the horse were human. That was a natural action for a rider of his kind. Wildfire turned away, showed bright against the dark background, and then disappeared. That was the last Slone saw of Wildfire for three days. It took all of this day to climb out of the canyon.
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