The mid-morning lesson was going fine until Nevaeh unceremoniously hit the ground. Seconds later her eyes glistened with tears. Westley, who’d taken his usual spot in the middle of the arena, crossed the short distance to check on his student. The six-year-old remained sitting in the sand and he worried she may have seriously hurt herself. Outside the arena her mother clutched the top rail, brow knit.
“Are you okay?” Westley asked as he got down on one knee, placing a gentle hand on Nevaeh’s back.
There were wet streaks down her brown cheeks. She sniffled, answering him with a little shake of her head.
He proceeded to check her over, looking for any obvious cuts or breaks, trying to recall if she hit her head. Helmet or not, concussions were still possible. The fall hadn’t seemed like m
