She tried to move back to neutral ground, changing the landscape to nondescript grasslands. The sky darkened to night again, but there were lights shining down, and bleachers on either side. He was standing with ten other stallions in a tight huddle. All eleven were wearing blue shirts and yellow helms with a grille across the front. They shouted at each other—more strange words—and then they lined up against the enemy. On a call, the formations broke, and he was suddenly in possession of a strange brown ovoid object, clutching it against his chest. He must keep it away from the enemy. They dove at him, trying to knock him down. Suddenly he was in the clear—the field opened up and changed to a sandy beach. One mare, wearing a bright orange vest, was standing between him and the end of the beach. He turned his head, and she saw Lyra galloping alongside him. She could feel his elation and triumph bursting forth—until the human mare raised up a twisted blackened claw and pointed it at him. The sea turned angry and the wind picked up, flinging sand and spray into his face.