In a moment of crisis, it's funny, how it doesnt matter whether the person lying on the ground is your worst enemy or your best friend. You just want to help. I find myself thinking this as Sultan slides to a halt beside a shaking All's Well. The saddle is hanging underneath her belly, her noseband clamps her mouth completely shut, and I notice the bit is a strong one. Her mouth is tender and broken. I realise it's not Carol I want to help, not at all. I want to help her horse. But I can't exactly leave Carol lying there. Even I'm not that cruel. I dismount and kneel down. Her face is paler than usual. She's unconscious. My mobile phone digs into my leg, and I thank god for mum's seemingly stupid safety rules. I punch out the emergency number, mouth dry.
"Hello? Yes, yes, ambulance please. Carol Fuedman, she's fallen off her horse, yes. Please yet here soon. She's unconscious. " I stutter. Molly has caught up, and poor Minx is breaking into a sweat.
"Someone ride and fetch her parents!" I say, suddenly becoming the sensible one.
"Well, Minx can't, and you know full well I can't ride Sultan, he'll chuck me off, so you'll have to ride."
I relish the feeling of the world speeding past. Sultans in full gallop when we reach Carols house. She lives in the posh part of town. The houses are red-bricked mansions, each with a blossom tree in their garden. I have a strange though that maybe their all identical inside, with cream linoleum and red Walls with sparkling chandleirs and gold encrusted taps. I knock on the door. A stern woman appears at the door. When she sees me her face softens. She likes me, I don't know why. I blurt out the story.
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If your horse says no, you either asked the wrong question, or asked the question wrong.* ~Pat Parelli