The griffon held on to the wagon for dear life as it rumbled its way down the hill. The windmill was on fire as the pegasi lost control of the clouds and a wild electrical storm raged over head. A cursing pony ranger was cursing and diving between crates of salve as they fell off the back of the wagon. Joachim thundered uncontrollably downwards to the bridge. A thin line of terrified pony guards stood there, uncertain about their chances versus a loaded wagon bearing down on them with ridiculous speed. The sombrero and poncho he was wearing was frayed and stained with apple juice.