A hoof on his withers nearly made him gallop for the double doors of the bookstore, only the crowd pressing their muzzles against the glass holding him back. “Breathe, Styggy,” said Loose Leaf, his literary agent. The earth mare had all the colors of autumn in her, and vastly more social acumen than Stygian ever did. “The ponies love you. This’ll be a cakewalk, just like last time.”