Lucky stared down at the computer, at her desk covered with pages of increasingly-legible English text written with quills of her own feathers. Dozens of Equestrian texts had been cannibalized in the production of this one book, written all over with her notes and theories as she read them. Her guide wouldn’t be enough to converse in meaningful ways with pony scientists on technical subjects. It wouldn’t bridge translation where none made sense, such as the dozens of different words for friendship, or the distinct lack of words for less kind feelings.