There was a foreboding in the air, a strange heaviness clinging to the atmosphere that encircled them. Olaf could sense that something was not quite right, yet he tried to push the mare onward regardless. In his mind, the problem was her location and her proximity to numerous bachelors who probably wanted a piece of her, or rather who wanted her to have a piece of them. Once Olaf got her safely from the lagoon and a back to the dunes, she would settle. She would find that there was no reason to fight. In his mind it was simple but deep down he knew the problem was much more complex.

Her scream rips through him like bullet through flesh, rattling through his bones and vibrating between his ears (which press more firmly against his head). Her chest bounced off his with a thump, leaving a trail of the slimy mud she had been laying in across her dark breast. He turned as sharply as he could from her rear, twisting away so that her hooves only caught his rump on the downward strike. He squealed and though he had no intentions of doing her any damage, bucked by reflex.

When Olaf turned, intending to drive the mare forward again, he found her midway through sinking to her knees. He snorted, pawing the ground in agitation and confusion. What torment had she been subjected to cause her to break down as such, he wondered.

When she stood, he extended his muzzle to her, pressing it firmly against her shoulder. It was unclear if he was urging her to move or comforting her – perhaps it was both. ”Come” he told her.