I was taking a trip down memory lane when Nico suddenly flew at the window, feathers bristling and amber eyes glowing with fire.

An overwhelming smell of basil came over me, and I nearly had to block my nose.

Hippogriffs and wolves (not normal ones, mind you) have scents that usually mirror their personalities, and an influx in the smell means that they’re either really, really angry – cuing you to take off like a madman – or they’re experiencing a sort of emotional tumbling.

I looked out the window, and Nico screeched in my ear, making me hiss in disapproval.

I soon saw what was making him so agitated. There was a black silhouette outside in the yard, and it was climbing over the fence of the unicorn paddock.

I heard Starr’s agitated whinny, and I dashed outside, club at the ready in my hand.

I loosed a berserk war cry, much like the wild men on Scimitar Mountains, and launched myself at the figure, not giving a second thought who it might be.

“Stop, THIEF !“