Giorgio pulled the cart to the far end of the stable and tilted the shafts against the wall. The donkey, freed, trotted to an empty manger and in a raucous bray demanded her supper.
Signor Ramalli sized up the boy as he watched him pour out a measure of grain. He could not help thinking how small Giorgio appeared in the bigness of the barn, but he was not going to change his mind now. The boy might be little, yet he was wiry, had good muscle, straight, sturdy legs, and he worked quickly and with purpose. The man laughed softly to himself; he was analyzing the boy as he would a horse!
"I am Ramalli of Siena," he explained. "I am a Snail."
Giorgio spun around. "You are what?" He took in the man's features, and saw on his forehead a wen bigger than the bulb on a snail's antenna. Is that why, he wondered, the man calls himself a snail?
"I belong to the Contrada of the Snail."
"Oh?" The word contrada sparked a lightning chain of thought direct to the Palio.
"My main activity is horses and racing."