The hairs on her withers rose. She knew this sensation. It was familiar, whoever… Whatever this was, she had met it before, but where? She moved on, her mouth moving quickly, summoning wards and incantations in preparation. She had not used any magic but the old arts in such a long time, but those that she did use she had committed to memory long ago. So ingrained where they that she could list them off by rote, the words flowing before her eyes as she spoke, yet not visible to any but her. All of it could be cast at the utterance of a single syllable, and in a flare of energy, she could obliterate practically anything should she so choose. Whoever this was, they had chosen the wrong pony to trespass against.