And the second she was out of danger, the adrenaline wore off and pain hit her like a freight train. Her side felt like it’d been sawn open with a drill and every single one of her legs felt like something was out of place. Third-degree burns would’ve been less painful. That wasn’t even getting into the cuts on her frogs, on her face. She tried taking a step, but her fetlock throbbed and her legs gave out, on the verge of snapping like balsa wood.