“Because we can’t close the door to ponies,” said a tiny voice from around the bend. Sarah hurried forward a few steps, and found a black changeling there, its insect eyes looking at them. Its hooves were attached to something firm—like a huge block of cement. It was held down with rope, and obviously couldn’t move. It looked shriveled, its body covered with bits of moss. “So we planted a hedge around our country, tall enough that no one unwelcome would enter. The doors are still open, so Harmony’s law is satisfied.”