Like everyone in this part of the forest, Penelope Cooper was an adept horsewoman. It was the only way to travel... Literally, the next village over, was more than a days' walking, and the dangers of the night too common for that to be risked.
The forest hamlet had a small forge, where Penelope worked. She fixed the tack, and shoed the horses. She had a particular flair. The tack picking up decorative little designs. Even the hooves seemed to be more works of art than simple items.
She had no lack of suitors, and a way with horses that was better than brute strength. Any rider passing through had trouble believing she was the villages farrier. She just didn't seem to have the build for it.
A blessing, or a curse. Penelope was unsure which. Changing her mind from time to time. But, the rumours of her father's dalliance with a forest nymph was behind her 'blessings'.
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