“You!” Crimson tried to say something, but Handy simply grabbed the pony by the scruff of her cloak and brought her up to his level. “Don’t I know you?” he asked, his mind struggling to retrieve memories from his abused mental architecture. He groaned, his hammer hand raised to his helmet in a fruitless gesture to alleviate the pain. Crimson took the opportunity. Her horn flared and her cloak tore. She dropped. Handy looked at the empty cloak in his hand. The unicorn jumped over the side of the train. "No! Wait!” he shouted. The unicorn materialised a pair of spectral rings and disappeared into the woods. Handy stared after the pony for a few seconds. Looking up, he saw the now distant silhouettes of the guard ponies holding formation in the moonlight. He frowned.