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at our need?”
    “I was of the village of Bront, beyond the low midvalley hills,” the lad replied.
    “That village was overrun by trolls a decade past!” my father cried.
    “Aye. I alone escaped, for that the monsters overlooked me when they ravaged. Now I ride alone, my good horse my home.”
    “But thou must have been but a baby then!” my father protested. ‘Trolls eat babies first—“
    “I hid,” the lad said, frowning. “I saw my family eaten, yet I lacked the courage to go out from my hiding place and battle the trolls. I was a coward. The memory is harsh, and best forgotten.”
    “Of course,” my father said, embarrassed. “Yet no one would term it cowardice for a child to hide from ravaging trolls! Good it is to remember that nature herself had vengeance on that particular band of trolls, for that lightning struck the village and destroyed them all in fire.”
    “Aye,” the lad murmured, his small face grim. “All save one troll cub.” At that my father looked startled, but the lad continued: “Thou searches for the lost foal? May I assist?”
    My father thought to demur, but knew it would draw blame upon himself if he declined any available help, even in a hopeless quest. “If thou hast a notion. We know not where to begin.”
    “I am on tolerable terms with the wild equines,” the lad said. “If the Lady were to ride with me to the herds and question those who may know ...”
    I was startled to hear myself defined as “Lady,” for I was but a grown girl, and I saw my father was similarly surprised. But we realized that to a lad as small as this I might indeed seem mature.
    “This is a kind offer,” my father said dubiously. “Yet I would not send two young people on such a quest alone, and I lack the time myself—“
    “Oh, please!” I pleaded, wheedling. “How could harm come on horseback?” I did not find it expedient to remind my father that I had gotten into trouble on horseback very recently, when I dismounted in the wood near the trolls.   “We could range carefully—“ Also, I wanted very much to see the wild horse herds, a thing seldom privileged to villagers.
    “Thy mare is in mourning for her foal,” my father said, finding another convenient objection. “Starshine is in no condition for such far riding. She knows not thy mission.” I clouded up in my most appealing manner. But before I spoke, the lad did.
    “I know the steed for her, sir. It is the Hinny. The mare of lightest foot and keenest perception in the wilds. She could sniff out the foal, if any could.” I clapped my hands in that girlish way I had.
    “Oh, yes!” I knew nothing about that horse except that a hinny was the sterile issue of stallion and jenny, most like a mule but prettier, yet already I was eager to ride her.   My father, more sensible than I, brooded. “A hinny, and wild. I trust this not. Such crossbreeds bear little good will to men.”
    “True,” the blue lad said. He never contradicted my father directly. “But this is not any hinny. She is the Hinny. She can be bred, but only by my blue stallion.   For that price she will be the best mount anyone could ask.   She is fit and wise in the ways of the wilderness; no creature durst cross her, not even a troll or dragon. Like unto a unicorn she is, almost.”
    My father wavered, for he had a deep respect for good horses. To encourage his acquiescence, I threatened to cloud again. I had a certain talent at that, and my father had a certain weakness for it; oft had we played this little game.  
    “Canst thou summon this hinny here?” he inquired, temporizing. “I would examine this animal.” The lad put fingers to his mouth and whistled piercingly.   Immediately, it seemed, there was the sound of galloping, and an animal came. What a creature it was! She was shades of gray, lighter on the flanks and withers, darker at the extremities with a mane of both shades a good yard long that rippled languorously in the breeze. Her