The human grunted in pain. He’d had worse Monday mornings in his time, but for the life of him, he could not remember when. He was a mess. He had been clocked one in the eye, which was doubtlessly going to bruise. Blood was gushing from his nose where it had been broken. He had lost most of his armour on the way to Canterlot, and the fight had ruined what little of it remained. The excruciating pain in his chest alerted him to the worrying possibility that several of his ribs had been cracked.