You make a dead reckoning and move up a bit on her neck, parting her fur again, this time revealing a small freckle. It was the diameter of a small pea and was slightly darker than the rest of her skin. A few wayward hairs sparsely populated the perfect blemish, “Didn’t know you ponies had these.” You whisper to your unconscious companion. Your index finger snakes down and pokes it gently; the area turns whiter than its surroundings, then red from resurgent blood flow.