"Years, properly. To truly train a horse, it ought to be taken from a foal and grown with its rider." Éowyn nods seriously, considering his question and all the riders she has seen. "It is the difference between training by love and by fear. The way you saw me do it, the horse learned to fear me, to accept me as his leader by right of combat. But that is a dangerous path for both rider and horse. I might have driven him too far and had him tear a muscle or break a leg; might have been thrown myself; might have panicked him into running and had no control. And then, later, had he slipped his noose, he would have fled. Had I fallen, he would not have given a backward glance. He would have lived ever in fear of the creature on his back."

She takes a long drink of her wine, sighing. "But had I but had the chance to win him by friendship, he would have told me if I drove him too hard. I would have slept with him untethered, and let him graze freely, and trusted him to come back to me in time of need. We would owe each other loyalty, then. But to throw a great weight onto a creature's back, and to drive it until sheer exhaustion forces it to yield... would you not count that cruel, if it were done to you?"