The second of a three part short story. If you missed the beginning, start reading here
My hands have no feeling.
My feet up to my lower thigh is numb. My stomach and chest is icy cold. I feel so light-headed I might as well faint. I have propped up my rigid body by a peeling black-painted gate which is pricking my back.
Someone stole my blanket, and now I am as good as a chunk of ice.
This is first of a series of Stories From The Stables, by Carolyn Ward.
I fell off, honest
Learning to ride is a fabulous hobby. It can be pricey, but you can borrow a hat and crop from most stables, and start off in trousers and strong shoes. It is great exercise, very exciting, and teaches respect for animals, balance, and correct posture.
When I was very young I rode at Stourton Stables, a children’s riding school where the ponies were mostly grumpy and had to be separated in the fields for fear of kicking each other to pieces.
Oh, happy riding lesson days. Hours spent in icy pouring rain, in snow, in fog, and even more rarely; in lovely sunshine. The best riding times of year for me were spring and autumn, before and after the major insect season.