Well, by yourself, by yourself, - the cunning redhead raised his hands, surrendering. - Don't worry, sweetheart.

- You... You...

- Shhhh... Come on, beauty. Ay, don't fight." He easily dodged the small fist. - Where is your bread? Feed Ross and go for a walk.

- I'm not going anywhere with you, - Irishka took out a carrot and handed it to the horse. - Hold on, man. And this is for me,” she took a clean rag out of her pocket, unfolded it and, taking out a piece of rye bread, began to chew. Indignantly pushing away the horse's muzzle, which was poking around for bread, she wondered...