The ruins had been converted into a makeshift campsite; tarps and awnings, most of them weathered and worn, roofed over some of the half-restored halls and chambers. Finally they were escorted to a side room where ponies lay on pallets or even blankets, breathing heavily or dozing uneasily. Some of the wounds made Sunset flinch and gave Cook pause; Rose ignored them. A tall, lanky earth pony stallion, curly orange mane bobbing above dun coat, ambled from patient to patient. He looked up at the intrusion and sighed. "More? All right, come over here."