Sitting down, she took Honour’s left forehoof in her right and dipped it in the water-trough, passing under the water-spout's flow. It was warm -- very warm, in fact. If it wasn’t heated glacial meltwater, then it must definitely be from a hot spring. Seizing up one of the small, white-bristled brushes arranged on the back rim of the water-trough, the Reverend Sister began to scrub at the bottom and sides of her hoof, speaking a prayer.