“Are you guarding the entrance?”

There was no response.

He didn’t really expect one. Not when she was in a mood.

She was going to just lie there by the narrow path between the wooden pallets that served as makeshift bridge and entrance, and stare at it as if the others would miraculously manifest by the force of her willpower alone.

“I think there’s a new herd coming from the east,” he noted.

No movement. He didn’t think she’d fall for it. Still, was worth a try. One never knew.

For his part, he did not grace her with a turn of his head. She did not deserve a sway of his magnificent woolly bangs, the pride of Farmer Jones, the envy of his peers, the feller of many a heifer.

He stood his ground. She guarded hers.

The flies buzzed.

It was going to be a very long afternoon.

For Cristina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge