When anyone came by, she turned away her face and stood still, so that they would not see her limp. She felt that she must look as dreadful as she felt. They would rush her off to the hospital. Doctors would prod her bones. They would pull down the blinds and say she had concussion. It would all be more than she could bear. Trudging along with her head down and aching, her knee hurting so badly that she began to be sure that she would never run, or even walk again, she thought dark and bitter thoughts, while low clouds swirled up the valley and began to spread downwards in fine misty rain. She would be a cripple for life. She would be in a wheel chair, her shoulders powerful as a man from turning the wheels. She would be like that lady who went on riding after a crippling fall in a point-to-point. They would have to dig a pit for John to walk into, so that she could slide on to his back from her wheel chair. Would she get a medal? What for? She had been a fool, not a heroine. She heard the sound of hoofs without looking up.
