The small party set out at an easy pace. Willow learned that the name of her fat little gelding was actually Plod, and for good reason. He meandered along, trying to swipe any leaves or tufts of grass that reached his nose-level. Occasionally Plod would pull a trick and yank the reins right out of Willows hands when he dived for a particularly attractive bit of browse. After the third time, the duke dismounted, and tied a piece of twine from the saddle to the crown of the bridle, so that the pony could no longer lower his head at will.
“He is a naughty little thing,” Liam commented, but the little horse redeemed himself by being perfectly calm and steady. Even when they flushed a game fowl out of the bush, he merely perked his ears in mild interest and continued to mosey on. He wou
