Her ear twitched and she turned. The clouds parted just enough to see a large number of silhouettes against the moon heading towards the train. She frowned. Mistress had never said anything about sending help. Crimson assumed the worst. Her horn flared with energy as sibilant whispers fell from her lips. Her form trembled and spasmed but remained firmly grounded on the caboose of the speeding train. The mist gathered about her, flowing from her mouth ears and nostrils. The racing wind whipped and plucked at it, but it did not fall from the train. Wraithlike, semi-solid forms emerged from the smoky substance, their spectral hooves clawing at the caboose to pull themselves up as their muzzles opened in silent whinnies.