The last few minutes were hard to remember but somehow you had been flung from your glass castle and tossed onto an impressive expanse of dirt. Towering above you was a faded green stall door, one of dozens in the building filled with hay and alfalfa for the horses to eat. Horses whose, neighs and whinnies echo throughout the stable as the crowd of tourists stumbles down the center path. Lucky enough to be far off to the edge, you watch as the moving sea of feet pound the Earth as the group makes their way out of the building. You notice the nearest stall is ever so slightly ajar, only about an inch in width but just big enough for you to squeeze through. The smell of hay and manure fills your lungs as you stare at two hooves the size of buildings tower in the distance, their owner, a brown Thoroughbred greedily laps at its water trough up above. That water could be incredibly valuable later down the road so climbing this mountainous horse was at the top of your current choices. The stall door was still open, however, giving you a chance to leave now that the tourists had gone.
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