The air was thick with the chill of early morning mist, and the gray clouds seemed to mourn alongside us, hanging low and heavy in the sky.

The procession halted, confusion rippling through the crowd like a stone cast into still water. I turned, my heart leaping into my throat. What could have driven Astoria to act so wildly?

Astoria had always been a calm, gentle creature, whose presence was more akin to a comforting shadow than a force of chaos. My late husband, Tom, had often said that she had a sixth sense, a knowing beyond human comprehension.

It was as if she was drawn to him, her loyalty unmatched and her patience endless.

Now, she was a tempest in full fury, her hooves striking the ground with a rhythm that echoed through the silent, narrow streets. Her mane flew back like a banner, and her eyes glistened with something that looked almost like defiance. As she reached the coffin, the crowd parted as if commanded by an unseen hand. There was no restraining her; she was a force of nature, unstoppable and resolute.

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.

As the reality settled over the gathering, I rose to my full height, feeling the weight of my resolve harden within me like steel. There were questions to be answered, truths to be uncovered. My grief would have to wait; first, I must seek justice for Tom, to understand the mystery that had replaced my mourning with a burning need to uncover the truth.

With Astoria by my side, I turned away from the splintered coffin and the shocked faces of those gathered, ready to embark on a journey I had never anticipated — a journey to find my husband, to uncover the events that led to this day, and to seek the justice that his spirit so rightly deserved.