“Which way should we go, big brother?” Tibbals asked, turning her head back and forth to look in both directions.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” he replied, frustration evident in his voice.
“Come toward me.” A musical voice floated in the air.
Startled, the two Duende and the two Centaurs looked up. At that very moment, a gust of wind lifted the snowflakes long enough to clear their view. Standing on the far side of the stream was a pure white horse. His body sparkled and his white eyes twinkled. His mane and tail looked like icicles, and the feathering around his hooves looked as though it had been sculpted by an artist. He was truly magnificent.
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