“Ah,” I said noncommittally as I viewed the mare placidly munching hay in a stable so antiseptically clean, it could have doubled for my mother’s surgery.
“So how hard it is really to joust?” I asked as Farrell walked Moth and me down the brightly lit stable to view yet another horse. Moth, surprisingly, didn’t seem to be intimidated by the horses, going so far as to stand up on his back legs, bracing himself against the stall door in order to smell a couple of the horses who expressed a mutual interest in him.
Moth seemed to be having a better time than me, to be honest. Thus far I’d seen Farrell’s horses and his specially made, custom-designed tack, met a good dozen of the people who served as squires, grooms, and assorted flunkies, chatted briefly with the other three jousters on his
