A Horse's Hasty Gallop

The Gingerbread Man, his sugary scent still clinging to the air like a sweet promise, didn't slow down. He had just outsmarted a bossy cow, a creature whose moos had been more of a bewildered bellow than a genuine threat. Now, the world stretched out before him, a patchwork quilt of green fields and rolling hills under a sky so blue it looked like it had been painted just for him. He ran with all his might, his little gumdrop buttons bouncing with each stride, his icing smile a blur against the sun-drenched landscape.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over him, not a menacing one, but a large, solid one. He skidded to a halt, his legs doing a little jig of surprise. Looming before him was a magnificent horse, its coat the colour of rich caramel, its mane a flowing waterfall of dark silk. The horse lowered its great head, its large, liquid eyes blinking slowly, and then it began to chew. Not on the gingerbread man, oh no! It was chewing its cud, a slow, rhythmic process that made its jaw move in a way the Gingerbread Man had never seen before.

"Well, now," the horse rumbled, its voice deep and resonant, like the sound of a gentle wind through a field of wheat. "What's this then? A little fellow in a hurry, are we?"