It was a high level spell, one she always kept with her in a slip of paper beneath her hoof, just in case she needed to use it and would forget it. No sense losing a part of herself because she needed to hide from danger but didn’t have enough sense to have a means on her person of remembering the spell. She watched on in sympathetic horror as her master fell prey to the pink thing and its threats of horrible horrible pies. It was hard to discern, and she could not hear what was said, nothing more than shadows in the howling storm of the veil.