Steel didn't -do- a slow trot; he half reared, though not enough to unseat the girl, and headed off at a swift, fluid canter. He steered responsively, and she could -stop- him, but the idea of holding him back felt both wrong and, well, impossible. Instead he steered himself by instinct through the fenced walk ways toward the wide open spaces of the King's grounds, where the scenery was all fields, hedgerows, a few contrived horse jumps and the odd thicket or wooded area to play host to game and fowl for hunting season.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>