His beak tore into the apple. It had taken him a while to comfortably eat an apple without having to wolf the whole thing wholesale, but he got used to biting into them with the side of his beak. He was enjoying his lunchtime, leaning against an empty stall, watching it for some stallion or other. He didn’t care to remember the name—it was five bits for standing around and he had no other deliveries to do yet, so why not? Not as if he was going to go back to the inn. Handy might actually ask him to help out!