I really need to work on that title.
The elf started trilling away in that lingo of theirs, and Joe let him; if the elf was talking, he wasn’t shooting, which gave Joe time to plan— something. He wasn’t sure what. No way he could reload before the elf noticed, and then he’d get another bullet, only this time in the front. Getting up meant the same thing. Throw the gun at the horse, maybe spook it? That seemed the best of a bunch of bad choices…
Joe suddenly noticed the elf wasn’t trilling anymore. Instead, he was swaying back and forth on his horse, wider and wider, until he just sort of slid off of it, and onto the ground below. From the way he lay on the ground there, he wasn’t getting back up again, either.
Well, that’s nice, Joe dimly thought as he started to drift off himself. I wasn’t going to hit the horse anyway.
All this violence toward horses…
Do any of them have names?
Mew