A gasp went up as Astoria reared onto her hind legs, and with a swift, unexpected movement, she brought her front hooves down hard. The wood splintered with a loud crack, sending shards in all directions. A collective intake of breath followed. For a moment, all was still. Time seemed suspended, the world holding its breath in anticipation.

As the dust settled, curious and fearful eyes peered into the broken coffin. My own gaze was drawn inexorably to it. What we saw within was not the face of my beloved, peaceful in eternal rest. Instead, it was something altogether unimaginable.

Nestled within the splintered remains of the coffin lay a scattering of rocks, roughly shaped into the form of a body. My mind struggled to comprehend, my knees threatening to give way beneath me. Where was Tom? What cruel joke was this, played at the expense of a widow’s grief?

The whispers began almost immediately, a susurration of disbelief and suspicion. Eyes turned toward me, as if seeking an explanation I did not possess. Astoria, having accomplished her uncanny task, stood calmly beside the wreckage, her large eyes settling on mine with an intensity I could not interpret.

In that moment, I understood why she had acted as she did. Somehow, she had known that Tom was not in that coffin, that an injustice had been done. My heart swelled with gratitude and a fierce determination. This was no accident, no random act of madness — it was a sign, a call to action.