Hugh turned and looked at him. Ryan squirmed in his seat. “You’re trying to give me a cold-blooded horse?” Hugh asked, his voice quiet and casual. “He’s warm-blooded.” Ryan raised his hands. “Look at the gait. Look at the lines. That’s Andalusian lines right there. The neck is long and the legs…” Oh, he saw the Andalusian, all right, but he saw the Percheron, too, in the size and the big chest. Percherons ran too cold blooded for fighting under the saddle; all that bulky slow-twitch muscle dragged down their reaction time. They were difficult to anger, slow to charge, and heavy on their feet.
...more
oh so THAT's what that means...
