And they went through four or five more ponies like that. Bitterroot wasn’t surprised; just because fugitives sometimes came to this town because it was off the map didn’t mean one was here, now. She wasn’t chasing any bounties, anyway. This little village, Ironforge, was just where she went once every one or two years to get away from it all — you couldn’t get much further away than off the map entirely — and she was simply checking to be sure no big names were trying to take refuge there. So after all the negatives, she said, “Thanks, anyway. A beer, please.” She slapped a few bits on the bartop.