Ivy gaped in astonishment. There, tied to the fence, was her very own pony.
“What do you think?” her dad asked.
Ivy looked up at him. This was his birthday present to her. “Thank you,” she whispered. She walked up to the pony. She was part mearas, her dad had said, and taller than the Shire ponies, like her dad’s Stybba. And she had come from Rohan, from the King’s own herd!
“What will you call her?” her dad asked.
The pony bowed her head to nuzzle at Ivy’s hand. Ivy patted the white spot on the chestnut forehead. “Star.”