As if on cue, to prove their worries right and Olaf’s statement wrong, a thundering of hooves, cracked branches and rustling leaves drew their attention away from the silence. Like mirror images of each other, the two stood tall with ears straining to hear if someone was in danger, or just having a good gallop. Something in the air suggested the latter was not the case and caused a vice to tighten around each of their hearts and their blood to run cold.

Something was wrong; very wrong.

Olaf acted first, barely managing two steps before Xiomara crashed through the underbrush. He hadn’t seen his daughter properly since their first meeting and this was far from the second meeting he’d had in mind. His ears flicked back momentarily (not pinning, however) and his gaze strained to see behind her – looking something or someone that might be chasing her. It was at that same moment that the roan filly collided with him, and his attention shifted back to her.

The smoky stallion might have reached out to comfort his daughter but her words froze him in place; the question of how and what happened stifled by her departure in the direction from which she came. He did not need to be think twice and surged after the girl. Jörmungandr was not far behind, her mind racing as she tried to guess what might have happened to their boss mare – what the wolves or a big cat taken her just as one had taken the buckskin mare’s grandmother?

Never in a million years would she have guessed the true cause of Xina’s peril.

Olaf skidded to a halt beside Xiomara, barely even noticing the hole that had opened up in the ground. It was unlike anything he had seen before, though he’d heard stories of one of the islands collapsing into the sea – was Luthien to be next? He snorted, pushing the thought aside as he peered over the edge to where Xina lay below. ”Xina!” he called down, hoping she would at least stir, even if she did not reply – but if she did, how on earth were they going to get her out?