Mary ran her fingers through the fair strands of the mare’s mane. Ghosts of her fractures still shooting phantom pains up her shins. From long days in a hospital bed, her legs barely held together by pins. She pictured this day to get her through the worst.
Tedious years of rehabilitation and excruciating efforts to walk set stepping stones to returning to the saddle. Many had called her short of sense.
Had the same injury happened to the horse, it would surely have been euthanised. A fact that she mouthed silently as she had selected the very beast that threw her to be her mount. On her entrance to the riding club, Mary had eyed the field’s surface. Uneven after a night of ceaseless rain. Hazardous. Perfect.
Chalk Snow 