Work Text:
Aziraphale looked up into the voids of a skeletal horse’s eyes, blinking as the ‘horse’ sang to him before pausing expectantly.
“My Welsh is a bit rusty
But if you’re not fussy
I’ll tell you in English
I’ve no nibbles you’d wish.”
Aziraphale couldn’t translate the enthusiastic reply he received.
“You seem to’ve not got the gist
So, I’m afraid I must insist
Heed my words to you now
I’ve no food here to satisfy this row.”
The horse gave up an hour later, unable to outwit Aziraphale who was apparently a poet, and realizing ... Aziraphale couldn’t understand him anyway.
