Hello everyone, it's Emma here!
I’m a twenty-year-old grey draught mare, my white mane and tail flowing like a silver stream in the wind. My home is Hayfield, a little farm just outside of Aberdeen, where I’ve spent all my days, enjoying the fresh air and the rugged beauty of Scotland.
Today, I'm writing my blog post about life in the year 0407.
You may be thinking, "Emma, why so specific? Why not just write about the Romans?" Well, dear friends, while Roman times were undoubtedly important for horses and horse people alike, I believe it's vital to explore different years in history. Every era holds unique stories and fascinating details about the role horses played in the world, even when there are no dramatic conquests or spectacular spectacles.
And let me tell you, dear reader, the year 0407 was just that - a year filled with a quiet but significant role for us equines, and an extraordinary year for me, personally.
Let’s jump back in time to the early days of 0407!
A Familiar Dawn in Hayfield
The wind whipped across the moors, swirling my long white tail and sending chills down my spine, a familiar and comforting sensation. Winter was still lingering, though a new, tentative warmth had begun to filter through the dawn.
This year was a year of change, even for our little farm in the Scottish Highlands.
My favourite season was undoubtedly Spring. When the first crocuses bloomed amongst the fields, and the heather shimmered in purple across the hills, a vibrant energy flowed through Hayfield. As a draught mare, it’s during Spring that my muscles were put to the greatest test - hauling heavy carts of crops to market.
We worked hard at Hayfield. My strong and sturdy kind were built for labour. You could say it was all in our bloodlines, all those years of dedication to humans and their needs. And while I had no desire to be anything but a working horse, my spirit remained steadfastly independent.
I recall the crisp mornings, the cold, refreshing dew on my coat, the taste of the wild hay and oats as the morning light spilled over the distant peaks.
A Journey To The Coast
This year, however, felt different, even for our small farm. The usual bustle and the routine tasks of preparing for market seemed to whirl with an unfamiliar excitement.
We felt it amongst the humanfolk of the farm. My owners, Angus and Elspeth, kept busy tending to their fields and barns, whispering amongst each other. Their usually easygoing and joyful faces were filled with a determined seriousness. They had a twinkle in their eyes that I couldn't quite understand.
One beautiful, blustery day, I was chosen for a special journey. They groomed me meticulously. My coat shone like polished silver. The strong, thick braid, the hallmark of a hard-working draught horse, flowed over my neck and down my back, giving me a touch of elegance.
They told me I would be accompanying Angus, our farmhand Ian, and our favourite hound, Finnan. They packed our cart with supplies: blankets, spare shoes, some oatcakes, and even a sack of our most prize-winning barley.
Finnan barked excitedly and I couldn’t help but whinny back. I'd known Finnan since he was a little pup. He was a bit clumsy and noisy but I adored him, and he always followed my every move with eager puppy eyes.
When we reached the shore, I was met with the crashing waves and the salty sea breeze, scents that filled my nostrils with a curious sensation. Angus explained I was travelling to the distant port of Dundee. My job, he said, would be transporting some precious barley for a wealthy trader there.
The long journey to the coast was arduous. The heavy cart, full of precious grains, was my responsibility. Angus would walk beside me, his hand firm on the reins, encouraging me to stay steady and strong. We followed the ancient trade routes, the paved roads winding through valleys, and over rugged landscapes.
The people we met along the way were varied. Some treated us with disdain, others with curiosity. And still others - mostly children, or women from small farming communities - would look upon me with gentle smiles, patting my neck and wishing me well on my journey. It was their affection and kindness that touched me deeply.
The road was lined with tall trees, a tapestry of greens and browns. We saw farmers tilling the soil, sheep grazing on rolling green hills, and wild ponies darting in the heather. Every new vista, every fleeting encounter, gave me a chance to reflect on my own life, and the ever-evolving landscape that was Scotland, my home.
Finally, after a week of travelling, we arrived in Dundee, the bustling city by the River Tay. I couldn’t help but stare at the imposing docks and towering ship masts. The noise and commotion of this place was like nothing I had ever encountered. Everywhere, men were working diligently, loading and unloading goods, boats of all shapes and sizes swaying gently in the harbour.
I delivered the barley and found myself at the heart of a world quite unlike my simple Hayfield life. But in all the clamour and bustle, I sensed something else. A quiet excitement, and a growing unease.
It was something I couldn’t fully understand, but felt deeply in my spirit, like a dark cloud beginning to form over the horizon.
A Return to Familiar Landscapes
It wasn't long until Angus decided to return to Hayfield. We left Dundee just as swiftly as we arrived, heading home, past those windswept fields and rolling hills that were so familiar.
We weren't alone in our return. Across the landscape, from different corners of Scotland, other horses and riders also began to return, a sense of urgency driving them homewards.
As we neared our farm, the air hummed with an unseen, undeniably potent presence.
We stopped at the farm gate. I stood with Finnan, my nose twitching, inhaling the fragrant scent of hay, and listening to the faint sound of birds singing in the oak trees, a gentle melody, the sound of peace.
* Whispers in the Wind*
The atmosphere was strangely charged, even with that familiar peacefulness. Elspeth hurried to Angus, a flicker of apprehension crossing her face.
"Have you heard? Have you seen what is happening across the lands? From our neighbour’s farm in the lowlands, to the distant corners of Galloway? The Roman troops are moving."
The name "Roman" brought an undeniable chill. They were powerful. They were unpredictable. There had been whispers for many years - of the Romans on the edge of Scotland, like a storm gathering force over the horizon. And it seemed those whispers were now a windstorm, blowing through the Highlands.
Their intentions were unclear. Some talked of war, some of protection, some of trade. Yet all carried a similar warning - beware the Roman forces, they are coming.
And so, we, horses of Scotland, began to feel the effects of the change that was approaching like a silent tide.
* My Special Role - The Message Bearer*
That same evening, as dusk settled and a thin moon hung high in the sky, Elspeth beckoned me close. She led me away from the barns, to the fields, her hand resting softly upon my shoulder.
"Emma," she spoke, her voice filled with emotion. "They are calling you for a task that demands strength and loyalty. They have need for a reliable messenger."
My ears pricked at her words, sensing their gravity, a deep, unwavering meaning behind them. I’ve never been afraid to serve, never been one to shy away from hard work.
They called for me. And it filled me with a proud determination to be part of whatever service Scotland needed, whatever task they required of me.
The following day, I felt the familiar weight of saddles, the clink of metal as the rein and bridle were fitted tightly about my head. They were new, well crafted, the very best.
Angus led me, on a journey down the ancient track that ran from Hayfield, across the highlands, all the way south to the Borders of England.
They placed a scroll behind the saddle. It felt cold and thin against my warm hide. But it contained the precious messages and instructions of the Chiefs, carrying their will, their hopes, their plans for the coming times.
I felt a surge of pride. My strong, sure steps, carrying this scroll - the lifeblood of the Highland tribes, a testament to their tradition, their courage, their strength in times of great need.
My journey south was marked with haste. The news of the approaching Roman forces was reaching even the most distant Highlands villages. I saw the worried looks of women and men, the hurried, urgent gathering of weapons and supplies, and a deep desire, burning brightly in their hearts, to defend their land.
For many weeks, I raced across the landscape, from one chieftain's camp to another. Carrying messages that gave direction to warriors and strength to communities. My powerful hooves kicked up the dusty earth. The wind whipped through my white mane. And in those moments, I was no ordinary grey mare.
I was a force for peace, a bringer of hope, an embodiment of my homeland's will, driven by my desire to be of service to my fellow countrymen and women.
This year, I learnt a powerful lesson. I was more than just a strong, reliable horse.
I became a link, a conduit, a symbol of the power and resilience that thrived in the heart of the Highlands.
And as the days went by, I realised this wasn’t just another story. It wasn’t just another year in the history of horses in Scotland. It was my story, a story that forever marked my spirit, made me a part of something bigger, something more than just myself.
* A Moment of Truth*
It’s funny, sometimes the simplest, quietest moments, become the most poignant, the most profound in a journey.
I remember sitting beneath the starlit sky as we crossed the Lands, the heavy scroll on my back, a weight I barely felt. The land around us lay sleeping, the earth shrouded in darkness, the wind whispering a low song, like a lullaby, the stars a symphony in the heavens above.
I was a mare of strength. A messenger of hope. I was Scotland's steed, and my spirit danced in the darkness, thriving on the call of duty, on the deep trust bestowed on me, and the courage in every beat of my heart.
And as the new year approached, I found myself deeply touched, not by fear or anxiety but by an undying spirit. The courage and hope of the men and women, and the resilience, that lay dormant, waiting for the right moment to emerge.
My life as a working mare may seem mundane to many. Yet that very mundanity allowed me to witness, to be part of things greater than myself, to be an integral piece in the tapestry of our times, and an inspiration to those who journey alongside me.
This journey has given me a sense of purpose. An assurance that I was more than just an animal of service. I am a part of this land, and the stories that rise from its heart.
In 0407, I learnt that every moment matters, even when we feel unimportant and ordinary. Because it’s in the unordinary days that history begins, and we, the horses of Scotland, play our silent yet vital role.
Until next time, dear friends. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about the Equine Chronicles of 0407.
* Happy riding. And remember, even in the quietest moments, there is a story waiting to be told. And it’s all about the amazing role we horses have always played in history. *
