It is not a pleasant surprise to wake up in the morning in a brush-covered ditch beside the road. Nor to glimpse a blood covered rock in such a state, and slowly realize your own head painted it that color. Then to remember how you got there when your pony, spooked by something moving in the dark, reared up as though it was confronted with a cave-troll (which was more than likely just a passing mouse casting a shadow in the lantern light), and you went flying. Landing, apparently, right here. Ugh. I don't think any thing's broken, though my scalp has a nasty cut and bump to go with it, but I am indeed sore, and quite filthy. And without a ride. And have a long walk home. Home. Here I go, one foot in front of the other.