“Ehm. I… Thanks.” The unicorn looked around the room, shuffled from hoof to hoof, and slipped her saddlebags off. Now that the light was better, Polar examined the unicorn more thoroughly. She was a sort of pale green, like frosted grass, with deep blue eyes. Her clothes, thick furs, looked old and worn. Her saddlebags were bulging and her mane was hidden beneath a hood. A small knife was strapped to her fetlock. At first glance, she seemed a perfectly capable adventurer. But something about the way she stood, the way she looked around, the way she held her legs a touch too closely together, made Polar think otherwise. It was like the unicorn was a yuppie who’d heard about this “mountaineering” thing, decided to give it a whirl, and researched it perfectly — but now that she was out and about and actually experiencing it, she was feeling aches and pains in places she hadn’t felt them before and was learning for the first time that, wow, mountains can be cold. Hopefully, she’d toughen up before the Frozen North took her.