It came on the morning he entered town to collect the coffin he had made for him. A roomy thing, it was black-lacquered wood on an iron frame, gold handles and hinges with white velvet interior lining and enough padding to be a mattress. He had learned, somewhat to his shock, that griffons were unusual in their preferences to bury their dead. Ponies—at least the Equestrians—tended to cremate their deceased, which would explain the lack of graveyards he had noticed while traveling. They put them in caskets all the same as the griffons, just didn’t bury them.