Azalea let her forehead thud against the fence of the paddock, letting out a heavy sigh. She was on her fifth day of trying to catch this horse. Confetti -what one of the farmhands had named her- was more than a little stubborn. She was a beautiful mare, and she had already started growing her woolies even though it was still Autumn. A friend of Azalea's had given her the heads-up about the short teddy cob; they knew that Azalea had been looking for a more advanced lesson horse that could hel...
