"'M up." Neil told the pony, whose voice sounded like Bulk's, before removing his snout from the crevice it found in his sleep. He ignored the smell of stale sweat and dust that had marinated into his muzzle's fur as he craned his head towards the voice. A set of golden armour shimmering in the light of an evening sun met his gaze, forcing his eyes to blink before he focused on the pony encased in the armour, Bulk.