The Gift Horse

by Jay of Lasgalen  

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Searching for his brother, Elladan pushed the door open. Elrohir’s room was empty, his bed unslept in.  That was odd.  Where was he, today of all days?  With Elrohir, the stables were always a good place to start.  Elladan dressed swiftly, left the house, and crossed the dewy grass to the warm, hay-scented building.

He could hear Elrohir’s voice, warm and affectionate.  Inside, a mare, tired and content, watched with pride as a wobbly-legged foal suckled peacefully.  Elrohir, weary and grimy, looked up and smiled, patting the foal paternally.

“Happy Conception Day, Elladan!  What are you going to call him?”