The horseshoe falls with a thud and a ring, stirring dust and rumour alike, but the Queen makes no move to pick it up.
Robin does instead, moments too late, beer-sloppy gossip already in his ears - you know what they say about witches and hard iron.
(It's nonsense, of course, to say the Queen delays before stables, she doesn't hesitate, quite the reverse – she walks into stables like she's walking into war, though she seems so at home in the saddle.)
"Don't bother," - quiet - "There never was any good luck here."
(She never meets his eyes, in the stables.)