It was such an odd thought. To think that something that had once died was now helping her to survive. The red pelt was keeping her warm and dry from the cold rain. Rarity couldn't believe at one time she was so repulsed by the idea of wearing something else's hide; but now she depended on it. Now she could understand some inkling of Atchmon's ways, and so she silently thanked her would be murderer for being there; even if it was just to be killed and used for its fur. Rarity couldn't wrap her head around it completely, but accepted it for what it was and tried not to dwell on it anymore. 