Torghul was already at the starting area when Batu arrived.
He was standing at the horse's near side. The boy was together, holding the lead.
He looked up when Batu came through the crowd.
"He's ready," Torghul said.
He said it about the horse, not the boy.
The boy was Torghul's youngest, nine years old, and he had been sitting on horses since he could be held on one. He sat on this horse with the ease of a child who did not think about sitting on horses, his body finding the position without consultation with his mind.
He was small even for nine, which was the reason he was here, and he looked at Batu across the animal's neck with the forced composed face a child makes in occasions like this.
The horse itself was a grey, standing several hands at the withers with the lean frame that the Pontic steppe built in animals that had done nothing but run their whole lives.
