“Ferals. The ones we stole our bodies from. Changelings that Harmony controls. Or its latest models. Plenty of different kinds over the years.” She shifted on her hooves, turning one of her forelegs towards Sarah. Her horn glowed pink for a second—just long enough for Sarah to see the symbols there. Green—Iron—Seventeen—Mahogany. It was more of that weird circular language, though the arrangement struck Sarah like a barcode. Or a brand. “We still have these, even if we make our own bodies now.” She put her horn out just as quickly, returning them to blackness.