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  • Ride.
  • My cousin raced the horse across a field of dry grass to an irrigation ditch, crossed the ditch on the horse, and five minutes later returned, dripping wet.
  • Now it's my turn to ride.
  • I leaped to the back of the horse and for a moment knew that awfulesr fear imaginable. The horse did not move.
  • Kick into his muscles. What are you waiting for? 
  • The horse did not move!
  • Then it began to run. I didn't know what to do. Horse run down the road to the vineyard of Dikran Halabian where it began to leap over vines. The horse leaped over seven vines before I fell. Then it continued running. 
  • I'm not worried about you. We've got to get that horse.
  • It took us half an hour to find the horse and bring him back. We took him to the barn of a deserted vineyard which at one time had been the pride of a farmer named Fetvajian.
  • My white horse which was stolen last month is still gone. I cannot understand it.
  • That afternoon my uncle Khosrove came to our house for coffee and cigarettes. The other visitor was farmer John Byro.
  • Pay no attention to it!
  • It's no harm. What is the loss of a horse? Haven't we all lost the homeland? What is this crying over a horse?
  • what is it?
  • The farmer went away and I ran over to my cousin Muarad's house.
  • The farmer, John Byro. He visited our house. He wants his horse back. You've had it a month. I want you to promise not to take him until I learn to ride.
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