Greetings from Hayfield, dear fellow equines! It's Emma here, your grey draught mare with the penchant for a good story. You may not believe me, but we horses have always had a tale to tell. And today, I’m taking you back to the year 486!
Imagine: the chill of a Scottish morning clinging to my sleek, grey coat as I pull my cart loaded with barley towards Aberdeen. The sun, still shy, bathes the rolling hills in hues of gold and purple, and the air vibrates with the music of birdsong. I'm 20, my white mane and tail gleaming in the morning light, a strong, sure-footed workhorse, proud to serve my community.
What was it like to be a horse in the year 486?
This year marked a time of peace and stability across much of what we now call Europe. The Roman Empire had fallen, but its influence lingered, a whisper in the breeze. Here in Scotland, we were a fiercely independent people, ruled by our own kings. Life revolved around the land, a life both beautiful and challenging.
A Day in the Life of a Dray Horse
My world was simple. Every day started with a satisfying munch of oats and barley, a warming treat before the day's work began. We, the dray horses, were the backbone of the community. Our strong shoulders moved heavy loads - from goods to building materials, to the harvests that kept our villages fed.
In the fields, I watched as our human friends sowed their seeds, their weathered hands deftly working the soil. In the winter, I felt the snow crunch under my hooves, pulling sledges piled high with firewood to keep our homes warm. It was a rhythm, a dance between man and beast, a bond built on mutual respect and understanding.
A Moment of Grace
One particularly cold morning, I was hauling a cart of fresh fish from the harbor when a little girl, no older than five, approached me. Her hair was red, her eyes bright with curiosity.
"Can I touch you, big horse?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
I, ever gentle with the young, lowered my head, allowing her tiny hands to stroke my soft nose. Her eyes were wide with wonder, and her small hand gripped mine with an almost desperate strength. It was a reminder that our role, beyond carrying loads, was also one of companionship.
Looking to the Horizon
As I finished my work for the day, I watched the sun setting over the North Sea, turning the sky into a canvas of vibrant hues. It was a peaceful evening, a stark contrast to the times of the Romans. They had used us for warfare, but here in the highlands of Scotland, we were primarily instruments of peace and progress. We built, we harvested, we transported – we were the wheels of the everyday, the muscle that moved our world forward.
And as I rested under the watchful gaze of the stars, I realized how much I loved my life. I was strong, I was useful, and I was a part of something bigger than myself.
Join me again next week, fellow equines, when we journey deeper into the annals of horse history. Until then, keep your heads held high and your hooves firm on the ground!
Emma, your Dray Mare from Hayfield
P.S.: Don't forget to check out www.equiworld.org for more incredible horse history, insightful stories, and breathtaking images from across the ages!
