AWAY EAST of the city, in a meadow ringed with ancient oaks, secluded from prying eyes, Toli and Prince Gerin rode together. “Try it again, young Prince,” called Toli, turning the cantering Riv toward a well-worn path where the great trunk of a fallen tree lay.

The Prince, a hardy young boy of nine with a tousled mane of dark brown hair, studied the obstacle before him, his quick green eyes narrowed in utmost concentration, his mouth pulled into a pucker. Flushed with excitement, color rising red to his cheeks, Gerin thrust out his jaw earnestly. The act was such an exact parody of the King that Toli chuckled behind his fist in order to keep from laughing aloud.

Then, with a flick of the reins, the Prince kicked his heels into his pony’s flanks and away they flew, back down the path toward the fallen trunk.

At the last second the little Prince threw the reins ahead and leaned forward against the horse’s neck. The pony lifted its legs and soared over the obstacle with ease, landing with a bump on the other side. The young rider rocked forward in the saddle and bounced to one side, but retained his seat on his mount.

“Very good!” cried Toli. “Excellent! That is the way! Come here now and rest a little.” He beamed at his charge, nodding well-earned approval.

“Just once more, Toli. Please? I want to remember what it feels like.” He turned the horse again and started for the log.

Toli reined up and dismounted, watching the Prince carefully. This time as the boy’s horse approached the obstacle, the animal hesitated, unsure of his rider’s command. He jumped awkwardly and late, throwing himself over. Prince Gerin slipped sideways in the saddle and hung on, trying desperately to stop the horse. But he could not; his grip failed, and he fell to the ground with a thud. The brown pony jogged on riderless.