“Ah, Handy,” a familiar voice called out to him, Handy paused, though Tanismore continued on through the crowd of ponies and griffons, oblivious to whether or not Handy was still following him. A familiar white pony with a well-coiffed blue mane and understated blue moustache approached him. Handy’s eyes widened in recognition as his memory dredged up just where he had seen the pony before, and why he had seemed so familiar when he saw him talk to the High King.