"Bridle," I say. I hold it up to the window and look at it in the light. It’s not fancy, it’s just an old dark leather bridle. I don’t know much about them. But I know that one part of it fits in the mouth. That part’s called the bit. It’s made of steel. Reins go over the head and up to where they’re held on the neck between the fingers. The rider pulls the reins this way and that, and the horse turns. It’s simple. The bit’s heavy and cold. If you had to wear this thing between your teeth, I guess you’d catch on in a hurry. When you felt it pull, you’d know it was time. You’d know you were going somewhere. - P192