Handy slowly rose from where he had fallen, his left hand still gripping the loose cobblestone he had picked up earlier. Something stung his side badly, but he ignored it. Oh no, there was something much more aggravating hovering right in front of him. The pony simply hung in the air, held aloft by her wings. She wore a long trailing coat of brown felt which had some kind of markings in the upper breast near the neck that Handy couldn’t make it out.