The rest of the process didn’t hurt so bad. She had to stand so close to Lightning that she could feel the mare’s heartbeat close to her own, almost as rapid despite her greater years. There was no getting the scent from her nose, a smell that had long transformed from “barnyard” in her brain to “safe.” Whatever Lightning was doing, it rapidly stopped hurting and became comfortable again. She moved in straight lines from the base of her wing to the tip, settling feathers with each pass with her mouth.