Neigh-sayers say I'm getting a bit old now, but I find my memories growing clearer, just like a well-worn saddle. And as a draught mare with a white mane and tail who lives in Hayfield, just a hop and a skip from the bustling city of Aberdeen in bonnie Scotland, I've certainly seen a few seasons come and go. Today, I'm going to delve back into my equine memory bank and tell you about the year 0364, as I remember it.
The first breath of spring had barely tickled the frost off the ground when we received a message. The village was going to have its annual horse fair, the biggest event in Hayfield, drawing merchants and riders from across the Scottish highlands. It was a flurry of activity, everyone brushing their coats to a sheen, and my owner, a kind, grey-haired man called Alistair, even added a bright red ribbon to my forelock for good luck!
He wasn't the only one prepping for the fair. A new horse trader, a tall, ginger-haired fellow named Finnigan, had arrived in town a few weeks prior, and his horses, oh my, were simply magnificent! Black stallions with gleaming coats, chestnut fillies with fire in their eyes - they were like nothing I'd seen before. My fellow horses and I would stand at the edge of the fields, noses twitching with curiosity, watching them as they practised their showmanship in the paddock. Finnigan, though he wasn't the friendliest, seemed a decent sort, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief as he whispered commands to his steeds.
The fair was a glorious sight! Music filled the air, a lively cacophony of fiddles and bagpipes. Vendors set up their stalls selling everything from leather tack to delectable oat cakes. I saw horses from the Lowlands, their hooves a perfect fit for the softer soil, and even a few sleek Arab steeds, imported all the way from the eastern lands.
And Finnigan's horses? They were the stars of the show! Their agility and training were unmatched, and the crowd gasped as they performed their dazzling feats, leaping over hurdles, running side-by-side with remarkable precision. But as the fair ended and Finnigan began to prepare to move on, a melancholic silence settled on Hayfield. The memory of the beautiful stallions lingered like the scent of hay after a good harvest.
After the fair, a sense of normalcy returned to Hayfield. But, normalcy doesn't necessarily mean boredom, as I soon discovered. It was during this season that a new task fell on my shoulders - helping Alistair deliver supplies to the newly established hospital in the heart of Aberdeen.
Alistair wasn't the only one tasked with this vital duty, of course. All our local horse-owners, both strong draft horses like myself and nimble carriage horses, became an integral part of the medical delivery system. It was quite a change from hauling our usual goods – grain sacks and building supplies – but the seriousness in everyone's eyes made the purpose crystal clear: every barrel of medicine and bag of bedding meant saving lives. The feeling of being a part of something so important was deeply satisfying.
It was on these trips that I became a true Aberdeen veteran, navigating the cobbled streets with a sure-footed confidence. And with each trip, I witnessed firsthand the incredible healing power of this new medical institution. It was truly heartening to see weary travelers arrive on horse-drawn carts and depart on foot, faces brighter and pain lessened. It solidified my faith in the goodness of mankind, that even amidst hardships, a drive for better healthcare could exist.
The season progressed, and Hayfield continued its steady rhythm, a place untouched by the anxieties that plagued distant cities. As autumn's touch brought colour to the hills and frost kissed the ground, my days became a peaceful cycle of work and rest.
But it was in the evenings, nestled in my warm stable, that I really began to contemplate the meaning of our equine lives. My own journey, as a draft horse in Hayfield, was far from glamorous. No high-spirited races, no extravagant displays of prowess, just the quiet dedication to serving my community. And yet, this simple truth held its own beauty.
The year 0364 ended just as it had begun - with Alistair by my side, as we watched the setting sun bathe the fields in its golden glow. He'd told me tales of a world far beyond Hayfield, stories about Rome and its sprawling grandeur, about powerful rulers and vast empires. He spoke of conflicts that reshaped continents, and the enduring presence of horses throughout history.
In my quiet stable, far away from the bustling world, I felt a sense of peace. Being a horse in Hayfield, even in a world full of conflict and change, was a simple, fulfilling existence. We may not have the power to alter the course of history, but we do what we can, contributing our strength, loyalty, and unwavering hearts. And that, in itself, is a testament to the extraordinary nature of the humble horse.
I know I've only scratched the surface of this year in history. So, I leave you with this: What do you think? Have you got any insights or stories about the horses in this era? Let me know in the comments! Stay neigh-vellous!
