Darling not to put too fine a point on it but you killed its former owner, rite of succession swears it's yours. [It is so hard to catch his breath fully; there's no natural rhythm for anything, and when they're striding close like this, with the clopping of hoofbeats just behind, he'd need a fucking metronome to get him back in time.

Still keeping to a conspiratory whisper, he does his level best.]

That is how things would work where I'm from.