Left behind. Lost. Marinell fled for his life from the gnashing jaws of the great, flaming skull-- dashed through the dark away, away, away until he could not run anymore, and when he turned around none had followed. He wandered then, plaintively wailing Daybreak's name. Praying for an answer. Of course none came. They had been devoured, obviously. Every single one of the kindly souls who had gathered him to safety had been swallowed by the fire, and now he was alone once more. 

Though, perhaps, less alone than he would have liked. The strange arrived in a whirling of smoke and fire-- a slender figure, rickety and robed and propped up on two legs-- and offered its hands to Marinell. 

The foal let out a shriek of terror and, whirling on his heels, disappeared back up the tunnel from whence he had come.