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.
Kick into his muscles. What are you waiting for?
I leaped to the back of the horse and for a moment knew that awfulesr fear imaginable. 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.
Es izlaidu visu garo sarunu viņu starpā. Nezinu vai to vajag. Nav jēga. *izdzēs šito*
That afternoon my uncle Khosrove came to our house for coffee and cigarettes. The other visitor was farmer John Byro.
My white horse which was stolen last month is still gone. I cannot understand it.
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?
The farmer went away and I ran over to my cousin Muarad's house.
what is it?
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.