He brought his glaive down and looked at the pony before him as he limped over to his spear. Holding the glaive in the crook of his arm, he offered his hand to his opponent. "Well fought," he said, seeing no reason not to be polite. The pony snorted in response and walked off. Handy scowled after him. Ah well, he couldn’t say he'd be in a better mood himself in the pony's position, but that was still rude. 