So it was that he waited. The thestral mare came back, the smirking one, to see the white pegasus. Cloud Skipper and Midnight Blossom were their names. He would not bother to remember them. They stayed there a while still, in the storeroom, with their quarry nary five feet away and none the wiser for it. He could not see them, for he dared not peek beyond the box. He could barely hear them, so hushed were their whispers and inaudible was their speech as they sat in the quiet of the store. He felt them, however, a strangeness to their beings he could not identify, a calmness to their roiling emotions. He did not mind, for it left him well enough alone. So it was that they left in their turn, leaving him to his thoughts and his churning stomach, for Handy was not a man with sea legs born to him.