Surveying the shopping market around them, Anon did notice it was a touch busier than usual, but certainly not cramped to the point she had to dodge and weave around ponies–let alone specifically stallions. He could smell a lie when one was presented to him, even one that weaved words into a rhyme, but he wasn’t going to press her on it—yet. Shrugging, he reached down, suddenly snatching Zecora’s basket from her maw.