And when she turned around she saw that the horses kept walking back towards her. Tall horses and small horses, fair ones and dark ones. She tried to chase them off. Day after day, year after year. ‘Quick, quick. Run!’ It just didn’t feel right for them to be so close. But they still returned every morning and every night, quietly whispering poems in her ear in a language she didn’t understand. But my dear, these words were ravishing. And she kept thinking, ‘Do they hold on to me, or do I hold on to them?’