In the village where I grew up, centaurs would travel down from the mountains. They mostly just passed through on the way to their destination, but will sometimes stop to trade – horoscopes for honey, weaponry for wine, prophecies for furs and fleeces. Or they talk with the witches, trading gossip and herbs and riddles. The elders are quiet and cautious, always on the lookout for potential dangers around them, while the younger ones chase after each other, tripping over their hooves in their eagerness to play.

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