"Please don't make a noise."
Garatt knew exactly what field to head for, looking for his favourite runner. If they had moved her-- The worry gnawed at his stomach as he opened the gate, habit making him close it behind him. It would be awful it he didn't catch her and she got out anyway and to the dragons.
"Come on then, come on, girl, please."
It was dark and the runner, friendly enough by day, was not particularly keen on being approached by strange boys at night. She shied away as he approached.
Usually an orangeroot helped. But he hadn't brought an orangeroot.
"Please, girl. Please."
Garatt was moving slowly and stiffly. The runner was not. She let him get almost within grasping distance and then whinnied, a high alarm sound, and bolted past him to the other end of the field. Garatt followed, and tried not to cry. It was clear this plan had its faults.
Blackadder: I mean, what about the people that do all the work?
Baldrick: The servants.
Blackadder: No, me; *I'm* the people who do all the work.