Big Macintosh was uncertain what precisely he was supposed to do. The armor was heavy and hard to move in, and it itched like crazy. And what was he supposed to do with this sword? Swing it around in his teeth?

He had a bad feeling about what it all this was about, too. He didn't want to fight something again, especially with the wound on his flank just a little ways away from being completely healed.

He peered out of his room anxiously, slowly taking a step forward. Maybe he could find somepony to explain what's going on to him.