As his breath slowed and his eyes opened, he realized he was not alone.  There was a little face in the doorway, poked into the room through the open sliver.  It was a calf - a foal, he corrected himself - who couldn't be much more than a yearling.  It drew back a little when it noticed him looking, but when he didn't do anything it began to creep closer. One little blue hoof entering the room, then another.  It was a tiny little bat pony, one with a blue-green mane hanging half in her face.  She crept closer, looking nervous and ready to bolt, while the bull gave her a quizzical look in turn.