Scarecrow had kept his distance from the draft mare as he pregnancy progressed, knowing from years past that the closer the day came, the more tensions ran high. He continued his patrols of the land, comforted by the rhythm of taking care of something but had stepped away to rest. It was from a light slumber that the first shriek rouses him and he was cantering toward the sound before his mind had fully deciphered just what it was that he had heard.

An unfamiliar snarling became audible as he came closer, as did the cries of pain and anguish. Scarecrow charged faster, but he'd been so far away from them that he did not reach them in time to prevent any of the attack. It went quiet for a moment and his heart lurched at the implication of it before Geneva's call redirected his feet toward a new direction.

As he burst onto the scene his gaze flicked to the two young foals that tottered at her side, but neither of them seemed to be wounded. Nor did they seem entirely dry either, so he assumed that they must be newly born. Normally predators would take out the foals before the mothers, but he did not see a second dam. As his gaze quickly takes inventory he does see that Geneva is injured and so steps forward, tentative but protective. She is not his mare, nor are they particularly close, but he would not let her be harmed if danger was still on it's way.

"Geneva, are you okay? Did you have twins?" His voice is quick but not harsh, and his gaze has already diverted from her figure to look toward the path she must have taken to get here, judging from the footsteps. He does not see anything yet, but carefully skirts around the mother and child to place himself between then danger and them. When nothing immediately becomes apparent he turns back to her, one ear still on the surroundings. "What happened?"