Another long one. It’s a fairy story, so I have an excuse.
Joris led Snowstorm through the pale light that preceded the dawn back to the cottage on the edge of the forest. The seven dancers were mortally weary; their shoes, the soles worn right through were left behind, and all they wanted was sleep. The youngest was already half-asleep in his arms before the old horse reached the door and stopped with a quiet snort. The six girls slid from his back, and without a word slipped inside and into their beds. Joris followed, laid the sleeping Septa in her little cot and closed the door.
When Snowstorm was settled back in the barn, Joris sat on the kitchen garden wall to watch the last of the stars go out. He wondered how long he would be called upon to ferry the seven sisters back and forth to every…
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