The unicorn adjusts the yellow saddlebags marked with pink butterflies at her side, her horn glowing as she carefully tends to a wounded pony. “Hold still, please. This will only take a moment. You’re safe now, I promise. Out here, everypony deserves a chance to be mended. The Wasteland takes enough from us—there’s no reason to let it take more if I can help it. Now, tell me where it hurts most.” She was healing you since you took a bullet in your hoof (or leg)