Shock, kept hysteria, and her tears, at bay as the pain of her recent ordeal sank into her limbs. She was seeing stars and only vaguely aware of what someone was saying to her. Dimly she realised it was the gentleman, Mister Prewett from before.

Her arm, the one that was trapped in the bridal ached at the shoulder and hung limp and uselessly at the shoulder, curved only up to where the bridal held her hand - clearly dislocated. Her face had scrapes, and a nasty gash had been ripped above her right eye, on the side closest to the horse. She was vaguely aware of pain in her lower half but it had been taking it’s time to develop and she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what was causing it

’My arm,’ she whimpered, and tried to use her other harm to sit up a little straighter. Her skirts were in disarray, and largely hitched up around her knees. In a panic she tried to right them, jerking her arm reflexively and crying out in pain as her arm protested. Her legs were scraped and battered, covered in cuts and grazes but didn’t seemed to be ‘working’ as far as she could tell.

Her eyes were filling with tears as embarrassment, rather than pain clouded her still fuzzy brain.

---

Lady is a wonder