Chapter 17
And so, my riding lessons began. I was given a dumpy white pony named Snowbell, who had to break into an undignified, lurching trot from time to time, just to keep up with Neeve and the long-legged Peerless.
At first we went around and around the paddock inside the castle walls. The dirt churned to mud, which clung to the horses’ legs and the hems of our riding habits. On the second day my bottom was uncomfortably bruised, and by the fourth afternoon it was all I could do to cling desperately to the saddle and wish the torture was at an end.
“You’re terrible at this,” Neeve remarked in an even voice.
“I know,” I said miserably.
“Maybe you should give it up.”
“I can’t.” I was wise enough to know the king would be most unhappy if I failed to become any sort of horsewoman.
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