the firestarters always get the burns
and the good guys never get the girl
The pretty mare (spoiled by her scowl) turns away to leave, but she nearly bumps into me. I have to say something. ”Hey, don’t go yet.” It slips my mind without thinking, and now she glares at me. I manage a slightly weak smile in return, and sidestep to talk to the stallion, whose head is lowered to expose his horns to us, and glaring also - but more at her than at me.
Diplomacy has been my only weapon for years. I can do this.
Can I?
Looking from one to the other, I scowl myself. ”You’re making fools of yourselves.” Both of them, they are. As one, they seem to turn against me, and though inwardly I smile because a common enemy can bring people together, I also know that it won’t be enough, won’t last long enough, probably not even until their son is born.
Unperturbed, I continue as if they haven’t just both sided with one another to attack me in stead of the other. ”As far as I understand it, you,” the guy I face, ”want to see your child, and you,” the girl then, “don’t want to face his other mares in a herd.” I smile at them. I don’t know their past, but I can see what their future will be like if nobody steers them back to one another in some way.