"I said I have a spell for it!" She protests, trying to dart past him -- and in a move that would make his Paleolithic-Era Ancestors proud, fling the towel; it spirals open, catching the little escapist like a net. Vision blurred and front-hooves tangled, she makes a loud squeak noise as she's caught, the towel promptly rubbed in against her face, her mane, and soon her body as Barnon works her over. Twilight deflates, defeated.