Trixie made a foal of herself as soon as she got out of bed—tried to, rather. How could she have known that the bed was a cloud? As soon as she was off the comforter, she and her dignity had crashed face-first into the floor. So much for a dramatic entrance, but then Trixie had never been at her best first thing in the morning, and while she didn’t actually know what time it was, she had been in bed and now she wasn’t; therefore, it must have been morning.