Hello, dear friends of the equine world! Emma here, your trusty steed from Hayfield, nestled amidst the rolling hills near Aberdeen, Scotland. It's a crisp morning here, the frost still clinging to the blades of grass, and I'm settling down to write about this incredible year, 0454 AD.
This year, like every year, was a mix of the ordinary and the extraordinary. For me, it's mostly about the rhythm of life: hauling cartloads of barley to the mill, helping Farmer McTavish plough his fields, and basking under the summer sun with my fellow draught horses. But this year held a particular weight - the echo of change felt stronger than ever before.
The whisperings started during spring, a quiet unrest carried by the wind from the distant south. It was talk of a new breed of horses, strong and agile, hailing from a land beyond the seas - horses known as "Barbarians". A chill ran down my spine, for every new breed meant new challenges, new competition for the grazing lands.
But while the rumours floated around, our own little world at Hayfield was full of the familiar comforts of life. Spring arrived with its joyous cacophony of bird songs, and we felt the strength in our legs grow with the warmer sun. The foal born to Elsie last year, a filly named Rosie, learned to graze with us older horses and already displays the noble spirit of a true Clydesdale. Rosie's playful exuberance is a reminder that, in the face of change, life keeps marching forward with unyielding hope.
I even had the pleasure of meeting a magnificent grey stallion named Zephyr, belonging to the miller's daughter. He came to the field to visit us and I was charmed by his gentle temperament. It’s been years since I met such a fine specimen. We spent our time chatting about life, family, and his travels across the country. From Zephyr, I heard about the flourishing markets held in southern England where horses of all breeds came together, displaying their strength and skills. I longed to be part of such a spectacle!
Summer brought the bustling harvest, our days filled with hauling heavy loads and assisting Farmer McTavish with his team of farm workers. I especially cherish the afternoons when the harvest is done, and we get to rest in the cool shade of the orchard, nibbling on the apples that have fallen to the ground. The wind carries the scent of apples and hay, a heady aroma that soothes my soul.
The changing seasons brought an air of anticipation and a strange stillness at Hayfield. We all sensed it, a collective feeling of things shifting in the wider world. The rumour about the Barbarians became louder, weaving into every conversation between the farmers, whispering a fear of competition, and yet, also hinting at an exciting future.
By the time autumn rolled in with its golden leaves and cool nights, a group of foreign riders came to Hayfield, armed with swords and clad in armour. They arrived with a story of war, of conquests, and of mighty horses that were capable of carrying a warrior into battle with unmatched speed and strength. It seemed the tales of the Barbarians were more than mere whispers now; they had arrived on our soil.
At first, the arrival brought fear, a palpable unease that settled amongst us. The unfamiliar language and their different way of dealing with horses left many nervous, even amongst our usually placid herd. Yet, I must admit, even in their strangeness, I saw something compelling about these riders. Their love for their mounts was undeniable, their connection as strong and unwavering as the sun’s pull on the earth.
What was most fascinating to me was their use of riding saddles. I have always been used to a heavy, strong cart saddle for pulling loads, but this riding saddle allowed a closer connection to the horse, more intimate control, and an almost-spiritual communion with their steeds. It was a new level of communication between rider and horse that filled me with both intrigue and a hint of longing.
As days turned into weeks, I found myself watching these foreign riders train their horses with both fascination and apprehension. Their mounts were different from ours; sleek and strong, trained to race and leap with unmatched speed and agility. They called these horses “Arabs," and they possessed a spirit that resonated with something within me, a kinship to the untamed wilds.
One chilly morning, I overheard the Miller’s son talking to the riders, asking about their journey and their horses. It seemed that these warriors had travelled a long way, from the southern lands beyond the seas, to assist a king with his wars. They spoke of a growing power in the west, a new king seeking to unify the lands under his rule, and they needed swift and powerful mounts for this cause.
They were impressed by our draught horses, too, praising their strength and ability to haul heavy loads. Yet, it was clear that the Arabians were their true love, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like to run like the wind, the feeling of being free and strong, of being one with the land as those horses seemed to be.
Though a hint of envy stirred within me, it was more admiration that I felt. A desire to learn more about these “Arabs,” to understand the connection they shared with their riders, the understanding, and trust that bloomed between them.
One day, I was separated from the herd, tied to a wagon for a journey into town. As I trotted alongside the wagon, a lone Arabian stallion ran alongside me, a brilliant flash of bay fur under the setting sun. We ran for what felt like a lifetime, side by side, our hooves pounding against the ground, our breaths intermingling in the air. We seemed to understand each other without words, sharing a language of the wind, of the earth beneath our feet, of the ancient bond between horse and horse.
When the journey ended and the riders gathered the Arabians back, the stallion turned to me, his eyes reflecting the dying sunlight. He gave me a brief but deep neigh, a sound of recognition, and then turned to follow his riders. That was the last I saw of him, a fleeting connection with a world I had never known, but a world that suddenly seemed very real, very close.
Even as the seasons shifted back to winter, the stories of the Barbarians remained, their legacy interwoven with our daily life at Hayfield. They left a sense of change in their wake, a ripple effect that affected every aspect of our existence.
This year, 0454 AD, brought a feeling of a changing world. A shift in the fabric of life, with echoes of both threat and promise. It marked a new era in the equine world, a period where new breeds emerged, and new skills were demanded of us, as we navigated a world that was no longer simply about hauling loads or plowing fields.
As the days shorten, and winter prepares to embrace us with its frost and snow, I am left with the sense of both comfort and excitement for the coming year. For who knows what new wonders await, what new adventures might come my way, and what role we, the horses of Hayfield, might play in the tapestry of this changing world?
Until next time, stay safe, and may your oats be plentiful!
Your friend,
Emma
