Weeding and tending to Mr. Kettern’s garden was surely worth the friendship she had with Frey. And luckily, the neighbor was willing to give her fresh produce when he had an abundance. Carrots and apples, the ones fallen to the ground, supplemented Frey’s diet.
Perhaps they were the reason he had grown up to be such a handsome stallion, his coat shiny, his tail thick, and his carriage far better than one would expect from his dam and sire. Frey’s eyes were bright and intelligent, and Shama swore he understood everything she told him. Although spirited as any four-year-old steed, he always showed a willingness to do whatever she asked of him.
And despite the fact that many in the town had said that she should sell Frey to repay them for the care they’d rendered to her since the day she was delivered to the town square as a baby, she’d resisted. Frey was hers. She’d earned him with her labors and with her love. But their coveting of her horse was probably another reason why the crowd had so willingly turned against her.
Shama had babysat, cleaned houses, weeded gardens, and done a hundred tasks whenever asked. She had received only a bit of food in exchange, not asking for more. But it was never enough.