The boy grins as you approach. He is about 14, homely and dark-haired, wearing dirty coveralls. Your equine nostrils can tell he doesn;t bathe much and that he spends a lot of time around horses, but the odor doesn't bother you. He opens the gate he was leaning against and walks in to get a better look. "Wow! You're amazing! Maybe a little young, but I don't think I've ever seen a Shire with prettier markings!"
A Shire? Those are the biggest draft horses! No wonder you ended up so large! And you sorta like being told you are nice-looking, even if it is by a stable boy. You try to ask him some questions, but discover that your moth doesn;t work the same way as it did. The best you can do is a mush-mouthed mumble. "Wha haapppan to mhee? Wheehre ahm ih?"
The boy pats your side affectionately. "You're a major stud! Or will be, once you finish up. Come on tot he stable and I'll help you." He points to a large barn and starts walking out. "Come on! You'll be fantastic!"