“What can you tell me about Iona and Brittou?” George asked.
“I’ve never met them. Iona’s raised stock for generations of young folk, and for those lutins who can afford them or who inherit the castoffs. Her manager, Brittou, has a good reputation for fair dealing.”
“I like the look of these, certainly.” The small horses showed the typical conformation of larger horses, just in a smaller size, but the large sturdy ponies had their own distinct grace and presence.
As they rode into the farm lane, a couple of yellow dogs came barking out to greet them. George’s “hush” quieted them down. They looked like blackmouth curs, typical all-round farm dogs.
The stables and farm buildings were wooden, not the ubiquitous stone that George had become used to seeing everywhere. The house, too, was a
