These were great days for Shasta， and every day better than the last as his muscles hardened and he fell less often. Even at the end of his training Bree still said he sat like abag of flour in the saddle. “And even if it was safe， young ‘un， I’d be ashamed to be seen with you on the main road.” But in spite of his rude words Bree was a patient teacher. No one can teach riding so well as a horse. Shasta learned to trot， to canter， to jump， and to keep his seat even when Bree pulled up suddenly or swung unexpectedly to the left or the right.which， as Bree told him， was a thing you might have to do at any moment in a battle. And then of course Shasta begged to be told of the battles and wars in which Bree had carried the Tarkaan. And Bree would tell of forced marches and the fording of swift rivers， of charges and of fierce fights between cavalry and cavalry when the war horses fought as well as the men， being all fierce stallions， trained to bite and kick， and to rear at the right moment so that the horse‘s weight as well as the rider’s would come down on a enemy‘s crest in the stroke of sword or battleaxe. But Bree did not want to talk about the wars as often as Shasta wanted to hear about them. “Don’t speak of them， youngster，” he would say. “They were only the Tisroc‘s wars and I fought in them as a slave and a dumb beast. Give me the Narnian wars where I shall fight as a free Horse among my own people！ Those will be wars worth talking about. Narnia and the North！ Bra.ha.ha！ Broo hoo！”
