The mare looked around. She had been deserted. The foal seemed to be contemplating whether to nurse or not and the stallion was shuffling his hooves.
"Stand up straight!" she barked. Her order was carried out before she had even finished it - by the stallion. The foal was suckling at her side. She growled at him. "Move back, Rufus," she snarled. He persisted. She bit him lightly on the ear. He leapt away, frightened, milk dripping off his lower lip, which trembled like Jell-O.
"Step lively, now," she commanded, ignoring the thump of a foal inside her. No one should know it's Peter's, she thought, eying the stallion walking stiffly behind her. They would think me weak.