“Good question, but not important. What is crucial is that you both get used to each other before we start on this next stretch. Mount him.” It sounds like a command he might give the Legion warriors.
After so many days of this, I hoist myself into the saddle without difficulty, collecting the reins as I’ve watched others do countless times.
“We’re going to start slow.” Jarek holds the harness and leads the horse around in a circle, his footfalls measured and steady, his deep voice even and conversational. “Keep a tight hold of the reins at all times but give them some slack for his benefit. Your posture is key. Shoulders back, sit up straight.”
“I know all that already.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you don’t know anything.” He glances back at me. “Do you want to learn or not?”
For the next half hour, Jarek walks me through various commands, tips, and warnings—how to use my legs and heels to signal directions, the right way to use the reins—and he does it with surprisingly minimal attitude. When the wagons roll again and our procession moves forward, my mind swims with new knowledge.
“Look at you.” Elisaf sidles up next to me. “You’re a natural.”
“A natural pain in my arse,” Jarek mutters, slipping into his usual abrasive demeanor. It doesn’t bother me as much, though. I’ve seen another, less prickly side beneath all that leather and steel.
I hum as we move toward the mountains, feeling like I’ve accomplished something today. Leading a horse, I can wrap my head around.
Creating balls of water out of thin air and a seer who shares bad omens in the middle of the night is another story.