It was too small to stand upright, but not so small as to make her feel uncomfortable. She sat on the opposite end of his sleeping bag from him, shivering. “What are you doing out here?” He handed her a towel. In his other hand, he held a funny-looking pipe, flat and made of polished wood. Smoke swirled up to the top of the tent where a few insects clung to the canvas. She wiped her face and arms as she explained what had happened. The thunder rocked the ground. “You were thrown? Are you hurt?” She showed him her thigh. He handed her the pipe to hold while he took out a first aid kit and cleaned the wound with an alcohol pad. Then he found a scratch on her back, unprotected by her halter top, and cleaned it as well. “I can’t believe this happened. It’s never happened before.” “What?” Daphne asked. “I’ve ridden those horses.
