Not minding the mud on the edge of her dress, Violet walked to the stable, where she heard pleasant burrs of her horses. She opened the door and stepped inside. “Good mornin’ ladies!” The horses replied in kind, and Violet went over to one particular stable door. Maple, the horse behind it, was butterscotch and cream colored, whose eyes reflected Violet’s own warm browns. Violet grabbed a handful of feed and brought it up to her. The horse happily gobbled it from her palm, leaving a puddle of spit in its place.