In an instant everything changes. One minute Encantador is jovial and compassionate, the next he feels as if someone's kicked him in the gut. Quick as a snake, El Aran has avoided his affectionate nibble and has planted a firm, chastizing bite on his withers. Stunned, he sidesteps with a shrill grunt and when he regards his lead mare again, it's with disbelief. He knows she has only done this to make him take her seriously, but still, it hurts. He twists his ears back and watches her in silence, his expression stony and his brown eyes glimmering with emotion.

Meanwhile, the wind has begun to howl and fling the black tendrils of his mane into his eyes, stinging them like whiplashes. The sea is crashing at his back, the chill waves lapping at his heels as the tide slowly edges in. It's only just after noon, and yet it feels later, with so many angry black clouds rolling in from the western seas and shrouding the day in darkness. "Cimarron is gone," he tells her, uncertain why she is asking him such a thing. Just then, a few sprinkles begin to dapple his back. They are cold and urgent and strip Encantador of his remaining patience.

"She is gone, El Aran," he retorts, his face contorted in frustration. Is she mad? he thinks to himself, but he is too riled-up now to seriously ponder the answer. Instead he tosses his head and begins to stalk away inland with the wind at his back. "Come on," he says, his voice hard and clipped, without turning his head to see if his lead mare is following. "We don't want to get caught in the flood."