A midmorning sun streaks through the windows. Legal encyclopedias are piled up high around a massive oak desk, the surface drowning in crumpled papers and half-read journals. A collection of snapped quills lies on the floor, as does Spike, who had been knocked unconscious by a flying copy of Equestrian Jurisprudence. Twilight presses her head against the blotter, hooves crossed around her head and eyes shut tight. 