![]() ![]() When she couldn’t sleep, she ran her fingers along their wings like her grandmother did with her rosary beads. ![]() Now, eleven years later, they were more charms than toys. She trotted them along her bedspread like the folds in her quilt were hills. ![]() She dusted them off, lined them up by colors, their wings rounded and splayed like stouter versions of a dragonfly’s. Estrella took her mother’s shrug as permission to keep them. No one could tell her where the little horses had first come from, or who they’d belonged to. They had been small enough to fit in her hands, carved wooden wings sprouting from their painted backs. Later, they would blame what happened on the little wooden horses.Įstrella had found them when she was five, the set of them dust-frosted and forgotten on a high shelf. ![]()
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