She was completely soaked; her coat was streaked with lathery white sweat deposits, and her mane was in desperate need of a blow-dry and brushing. She had her helmet and armor floating beside her in a magical field. Sparkshower put down her magazine, a confused expression on her face, but Glamerspear was speechless. Doing anything more than standing there, panting in the entryway with her head hung low, was apparently beyond her present abilities.