The stall felt no larger than a coffin. In the corner, Ruin stopped pacing. He turned his massive bulk toward her. The sheer size of him stole the breath from her lungs.
His chest was a wall of muscle. His neck was thick and crusted, scarred with old bite marks from herd scuffles. He lowered his head. He didn't make a sound.
No whinny. No snort. Just a deadly silent focus. Basia froze.
She didn't try to make soothing noises. She didn't hold her hand out for him to sniff. That was a good way to lose fingers. She kept her hands low, the halter in one, the bucket in the other.
All right, you ugly bastard. She whispered. Her voice was steady, even though her hands shook. I know you hate them.
They hate you. Ruin lunged. It was horrifyingly fast. 1,500 pounds of muscle exploding forward.
Basia didn't think. She reacted on pure instinct. She threw herself to the side, slamming her shoulder hard against the rough stone wall of the stall. Pain flared down her collarbone.
The horse's teeth snapped empty air right where her face had been. His massive shoulder brushed her coat as he spun intending to kick. Basia shoved the heavy wooden bucket of oats directly at his hindquarters. The bucket struck his hock.