Genevieve. The white wave. A small smile crooked the corner of Halloran's mouth and he ducked his head in deference. "Sailors might not, but landed men of common sense use them quite readily. I've been quite selective with my own mount." He was picky with very few things, but matters of transport were not to be trifled with. Men who beat their horses, ran their ships aground, and starved their dogs were reserved for the lowest level of hell, in his opinion. "I'll keep you in mind, Mr. Whitton. I've frequently been displeased with the quality of farrier in Sweetwater. A forge does not a smithy make."