Yet every huge stride Slone took brought him closer to a fact he could not deny.

In his eagerness he slipped, and fell, and crawled, and leaped, until he reached the slide which held Wildfire prisoner.
The stallion might have been fast in quicksand, up to his body, for all the movement he could make.

He could move only his head.

He held that up, his eyes wild, showing the whites, his foaming mouth wide open, his teeth gleaming.

A sound like a scream rent the air.