About damned time. The honourguards, credit where it’s due, stay composed, though I suppose that’s more a function of their sworn duties than their actual feelings on the matter. The other prisoners waste no time in taking off, the mare especially moving as if a fire had been lit under her tail. I opt to follow her lead in an attempt to sneak out without further incident, the other stallions held up only by rubbernecking at their newfound respective pony crushes.