That night, I approached the festival horse

Ye Lan lying listening to the wind and rain, Tie Ma Binghe into a dream.

This is a dark night with a high dark wind.

Flying over the crazy burning campus, crossing the streets of heavy roadblocks, through the black team dancing with the stars and stripes and the Mizi, I finally came to the beach of Xiangjiang Repulse Bay …

The moon finally broke through the dark clouds and covered the earth with whiteness.

The horse was still standing on the reef, looking quietly at the sand fort in the distance, like a statue. Warhorse, is he remembering the last fierce battle guarding the south gate of the motherland?

Humen, Shajiao Fort. The drums of war and the flags do not fall; swords and swords and shadows strike.

From early morning to dusk, more than 2,000 invaders attacked frantically again and again; more than 600 defenders fought bravely and repeatedly.

Enemies are few, and the national heroes who fought to the end have blood spilled on the ground. Warhorse, with his neck long and hissing, the tragic sound penetrated the smoke and echoed over the sand cape for a long time …

As a loot, the invaders were taken to Xiangjiang, and the war horses with iron bones were fighting hard and hard to live out their dignity.

Is this really the majestic horse that is majestic and loyal to the Lord?

Nowadays, the hair is thin, the tail is stumpy, the bones are thin, the eyes are closed …

As I approached the horse, I stroked his bruises gently.

I solemnly greet the war horse with a military salute, saying: This piece of old scar is a medal you left on the gallop; this new bloody wound is the one left by your heroic struggle and not eating food. Portions are strong.

Warhorse, it seemed to understand what I said, slowly opened his eyes and shed tears silently.

After a sea breeze blew, the swaying horse, the last strength of Dunsheng, after making a skyward hiss, fell down …

I woke up from my dream, and the tears wet the pillow.