"Are all our horses named for birds?" I mutter testily, tugging the last strap of Flywing's gear into place.
Finn's matter-of-fact tones sound from the edge of the stable roof. "Lionheart's named for a giant cat."
Ignoring him, I mount up.
"Though it does seem oddly unbalanced," Finn continues with philosophic air. "Perhaps, come lambing season, Eerdmair might consider the name Steedsnout as a possibility?"
"Oh, I dunno about that," I reply saucily, facing him at last, "but don't you think Tilda's runt would make a fine-looking Clodhoof?"
The memory of his open-mouthed horror cheers me all the way south.
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