Éowyn nods, brisk and businesslike. Part of her is rather amused by the idea of a grown man not knowing how to ride, but she has the sensitivity not to show it as she makes a cup out of her hands for him to step into. "It is easier with stirrups," she tells him, shrugging one shoulder, as though she had ever felt the need for them. "But I fear if they have saddles in this place, much less stirrups, I know not where I would find them."