I believe it  time of t t tan ition. As you command, my dear Sultan; indeed, wiful han I?

    It gave me pause,  ture o be made  color in tyle. o be t in tion and application of tration ? I tried to get more information out of tty boy  or Master Osman . Master Osman,  a doubt, knoalent and likes me t of all ters.

    So, as I gazed at ty page, tance, look and demeanor of a  an and Master Osman came to life before my eyes. t to be lively, but serious, like ter Osman made ten years ago, and it s alan, so t boty. ure? how would Bihzad?

    Suddenly, t entered my ts  by time I understood  arting from t foreleg. After quickly joining to tly, pleasurably and confidently—ist is no illustrator, but a calligrap my  moved as if it belonged to anotacular arcs became tomac and sration mige. Oalent of  my raced out trong and joyful elligent fore, once again, look Motiful, I merrily dreing a letter, and I o ter. I s arc from

    to its saddle. My self o being, , rounded body not unlike my ounned by t about t comments Our Sultan o laug t  t out of took my bruso told a joke. I briskly outlined tail. le and curvaceous I made to cup it in my le butt of a boy I  to violate. As I smiled, my clever opped: t rearing   talented of miniaturists and even  once t I o become or; but t else ts ake my ration seriously. ticulously rendered trils, teetrands of ail and saddle blanket in minute detail so t t I ration. From tion, t is, teral vieesticles s I left t because t unduly preoccupy tudied my empest, strong and po ical brusrokes in motion, like tters in a line of script, yet t miniaturist ion as if praising a Bioo, hem.

    master of old dra horse.