What fun is there in making sense?
Hay Bale grumbled. That never works. She trotted off into the tunnel. Lone Star would be out for another hour after a hit like that, she could spend some time looking for any clues at all.
Oh, I don't even know anymore. Lone Star said dryly, rubbing his forehead. Ya start a fight with one guy, suddenly your oldest friend is hunting you like a dog, and then there's a meat cleaver in a pony's kitchen and you're sitting down with what may be a headache or a mild concussion.