Chapter 89. We learn our lessons well
Round and round the paddock we go, merrily trot-trot-trotting, as my hobbits like to put it, matching the steady rhythm of my hoofs on the packed earth rimming the enclosure. Bert stands at the centre of the ring while little Violet and I draw wide circles in the dirt underfoot. The tween has left off the bandage from his head, though he continues to wear his arm in a sling four days – or is it five? – after that final battle.
'Stay on the rail, Letty! Don't let 'im wander!' Bert calls cheerily, turning himself in slow circles as he follows our progress.
I feel my little flower's weight shift slightly in the saddle, and I can envision her throwing her head back to laugh as the delightful sound comes to my turned-back ear. Not laid-back, mind, as if I were in an ill temper! I swivel one ear to catch the sounds around us while keeping the other ear tuned to hear Letty's voice – and Bert's, as a matter o' course.
I could steer myself back to "hug" the rail, in a manner of speaking, but I remember in time that this is Letty's lesson, not mine. And so, instead of responding at once to Bert's order, I wait to feel Letty's inside leg tighten against my side, along with the subtle guidance of our reins. Once we are trotting parallel to the paddock fence once more, we revel in Bert's Well done, me dears! That's the ticket!
I do not know what a ticket may be, but Letty's laugh sounds again in my turned-back ear, though the wind of our passing snatches it away almost at once. Nevertheless, we two are attuned to each other in almost perfect harmony. Though my little flower, up until our lessons began a few days ago, has only gone a-pony-back with father or mother or uncle or older cousin, she has excellent hands and a sure sense of balance, almost as if she was born to the saddle, or so I heard this-Bob proudly murmur to his Lilac when they came to visit me and to hear young Bert's report after our first lesson. To which Letty's mum replied, with a laugh, that their little daughter had probably been born part-pony, after her old dad!
Which part? Ham had asked in passing behind them with a wheelbarrow of hay to fill the haynets in the stalls beyond mine.
Delightful hobbit laughter filled the quiet stables, mingling with the munching of grain, the swish of hay being pulled from its net, the rattle of a bucket on its hook as one of my stable companions drank. Letty was not with us, for she'd been put to bed already, having eaten as much as mum and dad put together, whereupon she fell asleep in her dish.
Absolutely ravenous! Lilac had exclaimed. What did you do, Bert? Did you make her run circles around the paddock with our Bill on her back, instead o' the other way around? Bert had merely laughed and retorted that riding is hard work, but Lilac put her hands on her hips and maintained, in a mock-stern tone, that 'twas the pony that did all the work, surely! And then they all laughed again, this-Bob and Lilac and Bert and all the stable workers busy at their evening chores. Even I whickered a laugh, to be answered by half the horses and ponies in the inn's stables. (The other half were either drowsing or had their mouths full, no doubt.)
I am recalled from my remembering at the sound of Bert's raised voice. 'Now, Letty, I think you and Bill just might be ready for the next lesson!'
Next lesson? That would be on the morrow, would it not? The Sun is climbing in the sky, and soon 'twill be time to return to the stables for "a good grooming" and a small draught of water before Letty departs to her noontide meal and I go out with the "afternoon mob" to frolic and graze on the meadow belonging to the inn, outside the town but still inside the protection provided by Hedge and Dyke.
Letty's cheer tells me that she has rather a different idea, and as it turns out, Bert does as well, for he calls, 'Now signal dear Poppet, little cousin, just as we talked about at breakfast this morning...'
The little one's smooth rise-and-fall as she posts to my trot changes to a deep-seated bouncing, just for a stride or three, as my young rider shifts her weight the slightest measure to the inside of our circling path. At almost the same time, I feel her outside leg slide back a few inches behind the girth, while her inside hand tightens on the rein it holds, gently and subtly. I curve my neck and break into a canter at the calculated yet almost imperceptible squeeze of her legs against my ribs, and... we... are off!
My little flower's squeal of delight does not put me off my stride, for I have grown used to her ways. I keep one eye on Bert, cock one ear towards Letty, and canter along, to be rewarded by her next words. 'Why, Bert, it's almost like sitting in Mum's lap when we're rocking in her chair by the hearth! So... smooth... and... graceful...!'
I mentally scratch my head at this – something I've often seen one or another of my hobbits do when pondering. Graceful? I cannot recall ever being called graceful before! Ferny often called me clumsy, whilst those in the Company talked about me being steady, quiet, or dependable. But graceful? As I concentrate on maintaining my steady pace, I snort softly. I can think of worse things to be called, actually.
So deep in my musings am I that when Bert raps out, 'Halt!' I forget to wait for Violet's signal but, instead, stop short in my tracks.
...catapulting my Violet out of the saddle and o'er my head, and onwards, into the dirt underfoot! My little butterfly takes flight, in other words, but having no wings to speak of, she hovers only briefly in the air before smacking into the ground.
Aghast, I stare, then lower my head and, frozen in place by my consternation, stretch my nose towards her. My flower! My love! Forgive me! How could I have...?
But the little one pops up again almost immediately, and wonder of wonders, she is laughing!
'Why, I understand now, Bert!'
It's a good thing that someone understands something! I am at a complete loss.
But the tween is laughing with his little cousin as he walks over to where we ended. 'You do, do you?' he says between guffaws.
'That's why our whole first lesson started with letting myself fall from Poppet's back, first at a standstill until you said I'd got it right, and then at a walk! And you only allowed me to walk, and throw myself out of the saddle at your command, for the rest of that whole lesson!'
And I remember my confusion that first day, three...? days or so ago. For truly, that was all we did. First, Bert had us stand in the centre of the paddock where the fine dirt surface lies loose and ankle-deep, as opposed to the packed-down path round the inside edge of the circle. (And at that, one of the grooms has accompanied us each day, bearing a rake, to rake the paddock before and after every lesson thus far, thus stirring up and softening the packed-down path to keep the dirt loose and not too hard, it seems.) That day, just as Letty observed but a moment ago, our instructor first ordered me to stand steady, and then at his command, little Letty repeatedly fell off my back accidentally-on-purpose!
Very confusing. But Bert stood before me, holding my reins and petting me and reassuring me the whole time that all was well, and I was doing a fine job! ...though I wasn't, really, if my young rider was falling from my back! Or was I?
I gathered from his manner that my job was to keep my feet planted in the dirt lest I step on little Violet during the time she was on the ground. Meanwhile, he kept calling instructions to my little flower, all about how she had fallen, and how she was supposed to fall!
Very confusing.
'Twas a very good thing that my Violet had dressed in earth-coloured leggings and a brown tunic about the same colour as the dirt underfoot, for by the time that first lesson was half-over, dirt covered her clothes even though she brushed herself off each time she stood up again. By the time we all walked back to the stables where her mum waited (her dad, this-Bob, had stood outside the fence and watched the entire lesson without a word but with a wide grin most of the time), my little flower resembled the garden bed more than a bloom, with smears of dirt on her face and hands, and powdering her curly mop of hair. And her mum greeted us with, 'A bath before supper, I should think! You're a sight, you are, moppet!'
'But not until after Bill has had his bath!' was my flower's cheeky reply.
Her dad had tousled her curls, raising a small cloud of dust, and chuckled. 'Our girl's got her ducks lined up in the proper order, she does!' ...which I found confusing, just another unfathomable moment in a long line of baffling events and utterances that day. For I had seen no ducks in the cool of the morning, that day, not even lounging in or near the water trough outside the stables, a favourite gathering place of theirs when the day is warming.
...but I am getting ahead of myself, at least in remembering that first lesson of ours, Violet's and Bert's and mine. For the second half of the lesson, Bert instructed Violet on how to use her "aids" to signal me to walk and to halt, and we practised walking and halting, going 'round the ring so many times that I lost count. And when Bert was confident that Violet understood walking and halting, he recommenced ordering her to fall off my back again! And then get on, and walk, and fall off! And then get on, and walk, and halt, and fall off, and all this repeated over and over!
(Though the first time Violet slipped from the saddle as we walked along, I was so unnerved, her older cousin had to leave the centre of the ring. What I mean is, the tween crossed the space to where I stood, trembling, after refusing to walk on at Bert's command and Violet's signal. I did not know what I had done wrong! But, perplexing as it all was, Bert came to us and stood before me, stroking my nose and reassuring me that all was well, and I was "a good Bill", until I'd calmed enough to listen once more. All the while, 'Good lad!' called this-Bob from the other side of the rail, and 'Well done, Poppet!' Violet told me from the saddle as she gently patted my neck, having climbed up again to sit on my back as if nothing untoward had occurred. The entire experience turned out to be a riding lesson for me as well as my little flower, for that day, I learned to stop and stand when I felt my rider's weight leave my back, something I don't recall learning before.)
'I do! I understand now!' Violet says, standing before me now and stroking my nose. 'All's well, Poppet! All is very well! I fell off, as riders do sometimes, and you stopped and stood, just as a pony ought!'
'And you learned your lessons well, dear cousin, I'm glad to see! For though you fell on accident and not on purpose just now, you remembered how to fall well, to relax and tuck and roll away, to land safely and pop up again safely away from Bill's hoofs!'
All is well, whisper my Voices, deep inside, the first time they have spoken since that frightful day when I heard Them shouting, along with Mithrandir, The Eagles are coming! And, Stand, Men of the West! For this is the hour of doom!
My Voices have returned, and they sound rather pleased with Themselves into the bargain.
I have no choice but to believe them.
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Author's note: Of course, if Violet were taking riding lessons nowadays, she'd be wearing a protective helmet to guard her head and, perhaps, other protective gear to avoid bodily injury. Lacking the fruits of modern technology, Bert's teaching her how to fall safely and properly seems the next best thing.
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