You attempt to buck riders off of you.
Spectral horses thunder across moonlit moors, their hides shimmering like liquid shadow, manes whipping in an unseen gale. Bucking wildly, they rear with eyes aglow in crimson fire, hooves carving furrows of frost into the earth. Riders cling to ethereal saddles, cloaked in tattered night, urging the steeds toward forgotten crossroads where the veil thins.