The Mystery of the Singing Paint

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In the corner of an old shed, behind cobwebs and forgotten gardening tools, sat Chiplo. He was a wooden toy horse, once painted bright red with a flowing black mane. Now his paint had chipped away, leaving bare wood showing through like patches on an old quilt. Dust covered him from ears to hooves. "I wonder," Chiplo whispered to himself, "why some things get left behind while others stay loved forever?" It was a question he asked often in his lonely corner. The shed was quiet except for the soft patter of rain on the tin roof.

Just then, the shed door creaked open. A girl with curly hair and paint-splattered overalls stepped inside. It was Maya, the granddaughter of the house's owner. She visited sometimes, usually looking for flower pots or old picture frames. "Oh, Chiplo!" she exclaimed, spotting him immediately. "I've been thinking about you!" She picked him up gently, brushing away years of dust. "Remember when Grandpa used to tell me stories about you? About how you were his favorite toy when he was little?" Chiplo's wooden heart seemed to warm. Someone remembered him!