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On a storm-torn coast in the Dutch north, the sea rose in the night—cold, relentless, and faster than hooves could flee. By dawn, more than two hundred horses stood marooned on a shrinking island of grass near Marrum. For three days they waited—pressed shoulder to shoulder against the wind. Waves gnawed at the edges. Freshwater ran out. Rescuers tried rafts and boats, but the water was too treacherous, the footing too soft, the herd too frightened to move. This place is the Noarderleech—saltmarsh behind the sea dike. It was early November, 2006. The storm had come with the All Saints’ Flood, and then it simply… stayed. Crowds gathered on the dike. Cameras rolled. Every hour the question grew heavier: How do you lead a terrified herd through cold, chest-deep water… without causing a stampede? The answer would come from the horses themselves. Herds follow leaders. If calm, confident horses could enter the water first, there was a chance the rest would fall in behind. Six local riders stepped forward with their own mounts. No sirens. No engines. Just leather and breath and the drum of hooves on wet ground. Four would ride out through the water; two would guide from land—human and animal acting as one. They eased into the flood, necks high, ears sharp. The stranded herd looked… and followed. First a handful, then a ribbon of horses, stretching from the knoll to the dike—moving, splashing, surging toward higher ground. Fifteen minutes that felt like forever. And then—hooves on the slope of the dike. One by one they climbed, quivering and safe, salt and mud streaked across their flanks. Not all survived those days in the water. But because a handful of riders trusted nature’s instinct, most did. The world watched a simple, courageous idea become a rescue for the ages—Marrum, November 3rd, 2006.