Lowering her altitude a little, Bitterroot hovered overhead, watching Amanita closely. As she loped up the slope, she was shivering, but Bitterroot was unsure if that was from the cold or from suppressed sobs of pain. She didn’t look like a feared necromancer. She looked pitiful; Bitterroot wanted to just land and hug her. Any other pony definitely would’ve needed it.