the firestarters always get the burns
and the good guys never get the girl
The mare rolls her eyes, again threatening to leave, but before she can do so I continue in a softer tone. ”But you both forget that this fighting of yours will mostly harm the little one.”
I don’t need any magic or intuition or whatever you want to call it, to know that this is true; they don’t need it either.
It is now that I have their actual, full attention. I look at them, smile wearily. I’ve seen it often enough. ”The compromise,” I tell them, ”would be to live close by, and visit long and frequently. And more importantly - once weaned, the foal should be allowed to choose what they want. And you’ll just have to tolerate one another’s existence for the sake of your shared little love.” Looking to the bite mark pointedly, I then turn back to them. ”Good day.”
They’re silent for a long while, while I take my leave. They’ll have a lot to think about. Compromising always is a solution that nobody is fully, one hundred percent happy with, but it also comes with the satisfaction that the other party didn’t get what they want either. Both can live with it - for the sake of the third.
For the sake of a common love.