”It works!”
”Well, of course it works,” Malcolm laughed. He reined in to let her pass. “Heels down, toes in.”
”Ow! That hurts!”
”And don’t forget to grip with your thighs. But leave your hands relaxed. You don’t want to bruise his mouth with the bit.”
What about my bruises?
Concentrating on heels, toes, thighs, and hands all at the same time while steering and not falling off was nerve-racking. For the first ten minutes, Margo sweat into her clothes and was thoroughly miserable. The horse didn’t seem to mind, however.
”Keep right on,” Malcolm said over his shoulder. “I’ll follow you for a bit.”
He reined around behind her. Margo’s horse tried to follow. She hauled on the reins, overcorrected, and sent her horse straight toward a hedgerow. She straightened him out after wandering back and forth across the lane several times. Eventually she mastered the knack of keeping a fairly steady course.
”You’re doing fine,” Malcolm said from behind her. “Sit up a little straighter. That’s good Toes in. Heels down. Better. Elbows relaxed, wrists relaxed. Good. Gather up the reins slightly. If he bolts now, he’ll have the bit in his teeth and there’ll be no stopping him. Firm but relaxed.”
”If he bolts?” Margo asked. “Why would he do that?”
”Horses just do. It’s called shying. Anything can scare a horse. A leaf rustling the wrong way. A noise. An unexpected movement or color. Or a particular item. A parasol. A train. A lawn chair.”
”Great. I’m stuck way up here on something likely to jump at a shadow?”