The jarring force shot straight up Basia's spine, rattling the teeth in her skull. Her breath was violently punched out of her lungs. Before she could inhale, he twisted in midair, throwing his hindquarters to the right, while his shoulders slammed to the left. It was a vicious, calculated move designed to break a rider's balance and send them flying into the stone walls of the yard.
Basia lost her right stirrup instantly. Her boot swung wildly. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded veins, but she didn't scream. She clamped her thighs against the saddle flaps, her muscles screaming in sudden, agonizing protest, and buried her hands deep into his tangled mane.
She became a burr, a parasite. She threw every ounce of elegant riding technique she knew out the window. She wasn't trying to look good. She was trying to survive.
"One minute!" West yelled over the thunder of hooves, his voice cracking with panic. Ruin hit the ground again, and immediately lunged forward, charging blindly across the yard. The mud slicked his hooves. He slid, nearly going down on his knees before catching his balance and bucking again.
Basia's head snapped back. Her hat flew off, swallowed by the mud. The cold air whipped her hair into her eyes, stinging like needles. She tasted dirt.
The world was a violent, blurring carousel of gray sky, brown earth, and the black iron of the paddock fence rushing toward her. He was heading straight for the timber. He intended to scrape her off. "Pull him!" Henry shouted, stepping forward.
His detached composure entirely shattered. He dropped his cigar. "Pull his head up!" Basia couldn't pull his head up. She didn't have the leverage.