“Not often. Thom said to use raw carrots too, so Bram doesn’t get fat.”
Bram nuzzled Pip. Pip scratched his ears, called him good boy, sweetheart, and gave him a hug.
Was my warhorse going soft? I needed to get out of here before Bram ended up with flowers in his mane. ”Let’s go.”
I watched him, trying to comprehend what I was seeing. In Qoksmere, riding was as fundamental as arithmetic; every child learned. One did not need to be a master, but one had to be able to stay on the horse. What Pip was doing... this was not merely unskilled. It was an art form of incompetence.
Pip did not have rudimentary skills. He possessed a level of skill somehow beneath rudimentary. He gripped the reins like they were a handle on a push cart. His legs stuck out at odd angles, as if he’d never even noticed the stirrups.
“Do you have horses where you’re from?”
“We do have horses, but they’re more a hobby than a mode of transport. How do I make him go?”
I clicked my tongue and Bram started to walk. Periwinkle followed. Pip listed to the left.
“Sit up straight.”
“I am sitting up straight.”
“You are at a thirty-degree angle.”
“I’m sitting as straight as I can while still balancing. How come it doesn’t feel so bouncy when I’m in your lap.”
“There was a lot of bouncing when you were in my lap. So much that it was making my cock hard.”
“I knew it!” Pip said, laughing so hard that he almost fell off his horse. “Whoa. Tilty.”
Periwinkle, to his credit, was doing his best. The gelding moved with exaggerated care, placing each hoof as though his cargo were fragile. His ears rotated toward Pip with every wobble.
We fell behind within a mile.
The four Grey Guard rode ahead at an easy canter. I watched them disappear around a bend in the road and looked over at Pip, who was clinging to Periwinkle’s mane with one hand and trying to adjust his trouser cuffs with the other.
“I hate these trousers,” he said. “My thighs are in prison. They deserve to be free.”
“What do you do when it’s cold outside?”
He tilted his head. “Cold outside?”
“Like, in the winter.”
He scoffed. “I live in California! We do not winter!”
“Well, I can assure you, that winter exists in Qoksmere. And your thighs are supposed to be gripping the horse.”
“They can’t grip anything! The fabric is too thick! Did stripper poles teach you nothing about grip?”
I had no idea what a stripper pole was, and I suspected I was better off not knowing why Pip would be gripping one with his thighs. I cleared my throat. “The trousers help keep your skin from chafing against the leather.”
Pip started keeling to the left, and I reached over from Bram and caught the back of his shirt before he could topple off Periwinkle. The gelding stopped walking and turned his head to look at me with an expression that clearly said: please help.
“New plan,” I said. “You ride in my lap.”
Pip beamed at me. “I do like your lap. But will that bother Bram?”
“This will do, for now. But you will learn to ride properly.”
“Properly,” Pip repeated, as if tasting the word. “Okay. Time to stop, Periwinkle!”
