An image flashed in Rarity's mind of Atchmon's harrowing survival story painted upon his cave wall, and she could still feel the waning heat radiating off her horn upon her face. Rarity hesitated a moment at what she believed she needed to do. Then swiftly and carefully positioned her ivory spire near where she believed the bleeding was the worst. Then eased her horn forward, not wanting to gouge her already injured companion, while pushing her discomfort aside as she listened to the sharp hiss of the cauterizing wound.