"Is that right?" Rarity started in realization. "I never would've guessed it could cause you harm. I've known the Griffins to cook their meals, but they also partake in living mice as a delicacy during high-class social events." Rarity shuddered at the memory of witnessing a few poor mice being launched helplessly in the air, before disappearing down the Griffins gullets; their little tails being slurped down like spaghetti pasta. 'Buah...' Rarity shuttered, and she felt comfortable with not eating pasta ever again. 