Raul’s inside position blocked his opposite number from any attempt at the ball and gave him the closest angle to the ball. Checking his pony’s speed, he urged it into a tight, fast turn and aimed for the ball, his mallet aloft. “Leave it!” The shouted instruction came from a teammate who had a better angle for a shot at the ball than he did. Now his team duty became to block the closest opposition between his teammate and the goal. Only one rider was in that position, already racing his pony to intercept the anticipated flight of the ball and defend against a score. Instinctively, Raul waited a split second until his chocolate-colored horse had the necessary pivot foot on the ground to change angles before he signaled with legs and reins to alter direction. That fractional hesitation gave a fluidity to the movement, an effortless grace with hardly any break in speed. If he hadn’t waited that pulsebeat, the horse would have attempted to obey the signal, but off-balance, on the wrong lead, it would have appeared lumbering and awkward.
