That’s roughly when he heard it, the confident trot of hooves increasing in volume, drawing closer to him, an arrogant huff, smelled like blue bells, who in the hell washes themselves so they smell like bluebells? “You there.” God. Damnit. Handy kept looking down at his book, the pony couldn’t possibly be referring to him. He noticed more people were walking slower, as if curious. That was never a good thing. “I say, you there, ruffian.” Nope, he can’t possibly be referring to him. “Human!” Sigh.