Large, swooshing hoops. Sparking, cold, highly pressurized atmosphere. Crackling dirt slow to freeze. Steaming, bending trees. It was all too much. Marlboro looked off to the hillside with wild, wide, stallion eyes and wondered when Clyde would decide to point them both home. He didn't like this phenomenon one bit. Warm hay in the dark of the barn seemed like a far better idea, Marlboro thought. Yes.
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