Gallop across dry ground and look back. Dust kicks up off every hoof and hangs in a trail behind you, thickest on sand and dirt and barely any on rock or grass. The horse leaves a line of hoof prints in dirt, sand, snow and grass that stays about a minute and then weathers away. Through a stream the hooves throw spray; in snow they kick up powder; rain damps the dust. Pull up hard on grass or soil and it tears clods out of the ground.
Every hoof you see land makes its own sound: the four-beat walk, the two-beat trot, the drumming of a canter and gallop, soft thuds on the forest floor, clops on rock, crunch on gravel, splashes in water. At a gallop the horse blows out once with every stride and you hear the wind rise in your ears. The saddle creaks at a walk and the bit jingles from a trot up.
Keep galloping for a minute or two and its coat goes darker and glossy with sweat, then dries over the next few minutes. Canter at a fallen log or a low rock and it jumps by itself, taking off at the right moment and landing heavily to gallop on; press Space at a trot or faster to jump when you like. Walls and trees it will not try.
