This morning's prompt is 'pony'.

"Is that a pony?" Carol pointed. The rest of them joined her at the fence. Her son Tom, Ben and Brenda had been quieting a few undead americans.

"We're trespassing on someone's farm," Brenda said quietly and Ben nodded.

"You lot! Hold still! Do not come any closer!" A voice called out from somewhere beyond the pony, at the barn or maybe the pickup.

"Sure thing," Ben sang out, not bothering to argue or claim that they meant no harm. Cooperate and offer nothing, trade value for value, respect personal security; they had worked out a simple protocol, or Brenda had, actually, hammered out on the road after they'd been turned out from a safe place. Ben had called it 'home'...

Sunday evening BP: 130/69/75, sugar: 115