He was not the handsomest foal ever born, but he was perhaps the cutest. His limbs were too stocky to be described as elegant, and tufts of white and ginger feathers around his knobbly fetlocks gave away his common breeding. His eyes, although not noble, were big and kind and highly unusual, for he had one eye as black as midnight, and one eye as blue as a pale spring sky. All these strange qualities set him aside, even before I mention his curious markings.
        ‘Ah!’ said Farmer John, when he first set eyes upon the newly born ginger and white foal. ‘He’s the finest skewbald I ever did see.’
        Farmer John stroked the foal’s rather thickset neck as the new mother licked her son’s chunky forehead, revealing a heart-shaped star under his thick forelock.
‘Warmheart,’ said the farmer with a wide, kind smile (although when he said it, it sounded more like ‘waram-art’ because he had a peculiar country accent). ‘That’s what we’ll call you.’
        And that is where Warmheart’s story began; on a peaceful spring morning at Pennydale Farm surrounded by many other farm animals, who looked upon him with soft eyes and kind hearts. [End of sample, folks!]