You follow behind as the Princess beckons with a subtle inclination of her horn. Her ethereal mane flows behind like rivulets of stardust, obscuring much of her petite frame from view. Yet you catch glimpses—the slight sway of her flanks, the imperious angle of those feathery wings furling and unfurling in a subconscious display of regal poise. Your eyes flick towards the gathering crows of rubbernecking onlookers and you suppress a wince. Just another public spectacle for Equestria's never-ending rumor mill to chew over; even a thousand years later you're aptly familiar with the notion.