When they finally reached the town border, Artemis began wondering if there was anypony left in Grayvale at all. It looked like a war had happened here. Buildings had been wrecked and debris was strewn about the street. One of the closest houses looked about to collapse in on itself. In numerous places, the snow was stained red with blood, although there were disturbingly few bodies. One of those was a dead pony sitting against a wall. His hooves had been ripped off, leaving bloody remains of feet behind. His throat had been sliced open. On the wall beside him, probably painted in his blood, was a complex geometric design, filled with lines and runes that made Artemis’s head hurt. Actually, physically hurt. When she stopped looking, the pain went away. But not looking at the sigil meant looking at everything else. Even the cliff on the far side of town rippled and looked like something had tried to tear it apart.