But by now the whole party was moving off at a brisk canter. Shasta‘s seat was excellent but he was sadly puzzled as to what to do with his reins， for he had never touched the reins while he was on Bree’s back. But he looked very carefully out of the corners of his eyes to see what the others were doing （as some of us have done at parties when we weren‘t quite sure which knife or fork we were meant to use） and tried to get his fingers right. But he didn’t dareto try really directing the horse； he trusted it would follow the rest. The horse was of course an ordinary horse， not a Talking Horse； but it had quite wits enough to realize that the strange boy on its back had no whip and no spurs and was not really master of the situation. That was why Shasta soon found himself at the tail end of the procession.
Even so， he was going pretty fast. There were no flies now and the air in his face was delicious. He had got his breath back too. And his errand had succeeded. For the first time since the arrival at Tashbaan （how long ago it seemed！） he was beginning to enjoy himself.
