Luna flicked her ears. Ignoring her bait proved how apprehensive her sister was. Luna bit down a snarky response and leaned forward. “He has—we are not as good at reading ponies as thou art, and his experiences are foreign to us. He—Dale—has known war and strife. He knows of machines which are unknown to us, giant rockets which carry his kin into the sky and wands which cast death-spells. Yet . . . he fears conflict. Nay.” She closed her eyes and thought back to his strange dream-memories. “He understands it in a way . . . in a way we cannot.” Luna dropped her head. “Perhaps we gave too much of ourself in the dream, but he provided comfort. We could not help but think of the price we paid for what we have.” She looked down at the table. “Despite thy council, we watched the Hearth's Warming Eve pageant . . . thou wert right to raze the unicorn stronghold to the ground. Better that there be no memory of it. We wanted to cry out that they had misunderstood what the conflict was about. That there is no such thing as a Windigo, except in the heart of a greedy pony. But we held our tongue, even as they lampooned Chancellor Puddinghead.”