The horse digs his heels in fantastically, but somewhere between the pressure applied to the headstall and Marcoulf clamping down on every available joint, the nails are driven in. After quite a bit of scuffling and pulling and misbehavior, the shoe is secured. Marcoulf releases the animal's foot with a heavy thunk. The horse immediately shifts his weight forward and turns his head to nudge Alacruun's arm and lip expectantly at his clothes.

With a hand to the small of his back, Marcoulf straightens. "Someone's spoiled him rotten." Still, he pats the horse high on his neck and flips a few handfuls of mane back to the right side. He also glances to Alacruun and nods in apparent approval: 'Good enough.