There's nothing on the ceiling or behind him.
"Are you lying? You're not those sort of criminals who beat up people, take their teeth, and sell to the black market are you? I hear zebras love using teeth in their brews," He kept cowering, occasionally peeking from under his fore leg, Daniel's drawn weapons keeping the likely drunk, homeless, pony scared manureless. "You won't like my teeth! No good for potions...! Rotting practically! Waaaah, don't hurt me."