It sounded like there was a pony barely six feet from her, Bitterroot guessed, but she couldn’t see them. The smoke was just too thick. “Oh, I don’t know,” Bitterroot said casually. “Maybe I’ll-” She pumped her wings and dove through a bush. She slammed into a pony, hitting hard enough to throw them a few feet. She blinked away the smoke. Trace was getting to her hooves, blue fire burning in her eyes and blood dripping from her mangled mouth. Bitterroot charged again, hurled Trace to the ground, and began stomping on her horn. Maybe she could-