“Good morning， small one，” said Bree. “I was afraid you might feel a bit stiff. It can’t be the falls. You didn‘t have more than a dozen or so， and it was all lovely， soft springy turf that must have been almost a pleasure to fall on. And the only one that might have been nasty was broken by that gorse bush. No： it’s the riding itself that comes hard at first. What about breakfast？ I‘ve had mine.”
