The Art of Falling Off The cold air nips at me through my t shirt. The horse below me is moving with solids steps. One, two, three, one, two, three. Like a dance, complicated to learn but rewarding. Tori beckons at me from her perch on the fence. My riding instructor's agile frame points to the small log jump. "Come on Cleeha," I cluck into her black ears. The swivel around to me. She anticipates the jump. So do I. Her foot stumbles on a rock and I fall onto her shoulders. My knees must've pressed against her sensitive sides. I feel Cleeha's back ball up under me. She bucks. I try to sit back and get her to calm down. Her ears are pinned flat back. I give up and shout,"WOAH." Cleeha hesitates this time. As soon as I relax she rears. I scream as I slip off he rack onto the hard ground. I pull my aching arms around my neck, Cleeha's feet land an inch from my head. I flip over as Tori runs to me. I try to breathe, pain sears up my sides. "Don't get up," her hand prods the temples of my head. I wince. "Owh!!" "I think you have a concussion. Don't move." I lay flat on my back while she retrieves my mount. "Up you go." Even with a concussion, my riding instructor wants me to finish the ride.