Unable to think of a response she just stares at you and struggles to suppress a blush as she takes the picture from your hand. She fails horribly once she sees her own portrait. The mare you’d figured was named Fleetfoot broke out laughing mid-writing. She hands the cap back to the young filly who was ecstatic despite the abrupt squiggle in the middle of the signature, ”What’s the matter Dash? He’s your biggest fan.” 