However, one resilient contrarian, just like Gray Calx, was still present next to the train. A small earth pony, pink all over, her white braided mane bundled in messy locks, with sweat distinctly leaking down her face even from this distance. Her head was a bit redder than the rest of her natural coloration. Whether it was due to the physical effort of failing to pull a large wooden crate by a flimsy rope, or due to the frustration of being stuck alone carrying out a job she clearly wasn’t built for, Calx couldn’t really tell. Once again, she tried her hardest to put some form of motion into the crate to no avail. She scrunched her face, mumbled a few swears, only to give up and catch her breath with her tongue dangling.