Artemis was still wearing the standard set of an Armored Corps pony: forty pounds of bronze plate, polished to a shiny reddish-gold hue. Most of that glossy weight was in the form of the horseshoe-shaped croupiere protecting her flanks and plot, with much of the rest allocated to the massive peytral that rendered her chest and shoulders utterly immune to anything short of a scorpion bolt or cannon ball. Compared to those massive pieces, the criniere covering her neck, helmet on her head, and greaves on her legs were almost afterthoughts. It still boggled Lily’s mind that Artemis could fly while loaded down with all that metal, but then again, she was a pretty powerfully-built pegasus.