The field had just been plowed -- that was a plus. I was practising downhill jumps, as that was what scared me the most, so that was what I needed the most work on. Siarra had short pony legs; she was used to trotting and cantering to stay with the other horses, so she broke into a canter coming off the third jump. I landed badly, was lying on her neck, tried to get her to stop before I came off, but she only did a half-halt, and I fell forward. She couldn't completely stop, though, and to avoid me, she jumped, kicking me in the chest as she went over me, and stepping on my leg as I hit the ground. I made a hole in the field. The dirt was that soft. She galloped back through the neighborhood, riderless, and my girlfriend's neighbor drove out to help. I was limping towards home, retching, and Anne was riding beside me. The woman in the Ford leaned out, as the wind blew my long hair in front of my face, and said, "We can give your friend a ride home if she needs it." "No," said Anne, laughing. "He's ok."