Unconsciously, Honour reached up to her wavy mane, recently restyled in the mares’ restroom, and idly twirled a lock of hair around her forehoof. She didn’t get the opportunity to do that a lot these days with her hair always gathered up in a braid — not in the way she used to. For a moment, she felt herself taken back to those younger, more innocent years. Underage, hanging out in one of the Fillydelphia dockside taverns close enough to Fort Mifflin to host the most explosive combination of drunken & bored soldiers and sailors.