Handy looked down. Nothing beneath him but a foot of wooden bridge, empty air, and sea water below. Theoretically, if you know, he were in an action movie, he'd drop off the edge, catch himself off the side, and swing his way to the other side using the underside of the bridge. And the sad thing was, if he had the right blood in him, that sort of nonsensical bullshit was in the realm of possibility for him. He didn't have the right blood. He sighed as the passive aggression built up behind him seemed to come to a boil. The ponies were literally inches away from each other, and there he was, standing on the edge, waiting for them t—