Hoshor Plains cowboy like me

In part, she envied the fact that the yearling was capable of crashing so hard onto her belly, and still want to try again at the risk of doing the same thing. Fancy felt certain she would bust a seam somewhere, or throw out a joint in her spine; her knees cracked when she unlocked them after a nap. Her withers shuddered at the thought of seeing the yearling try again with another mighty leap; the sensation of flying was often followed shortly thereafter by the sensation of falling. 

She lowered her head to gently nudge the grulla's side, hoping to get her to rise to her feet so the sorrel could check her for any sign of injury. She suspected she might bruise a bit; if she'd hit any rocks or frozen clumps of earth, she might have scrapes as well. 

"No," She answered flatly. She shook her neck, loosening up the strands of mane that clumped together in the cold. "Not unless you start on your belly, and it ain't worth carving up your hide for that," She said. "No amount of praying to Equus is going to get him to give us back our wings," She said.