She had found the mare happily humming her way down a rather auspicious looking street, if you defined auspicious as meaning seedier than the underbelly of Mos Eisley. She carried herself with a dangerous swagger and a confidence born of believing one owned the very ground they walked upon. For all Thorax knew, she probably did. This was a gang run area of town if ever she saw one, and the earth pony mare, cream-coated with a voluminous, exaggerated, dark brown mane, certainly didn’t look like somepony of ill-repute.