The ride to Canterlot was uneventful. The same double takes from ponies, the same short ceiling and awkward seats. Despite its pains, the steam powered machine of steel and coal provided a measure of comfort. It wasn’t driven by magic, just good old reliable physics. You almost felt a connection to it in a way you never could with the magically drawn buggies and flying chariots. Despite its merits you never trusted magic, it was too complex and intangible, and worst of all you still didn’t understand how it worked. The train on the other hand, was something you understood in detail, and you found it fairly easy to doze off to its rhythmic bumping and clacking. When you finally arrived in the mountaintop city a few hours later you almost regret leaving it for the foreign unknown.