History of Horses in the year 0515

My Dearest Fellow Equines,

Greetings from the verdant pastures of Hayfield, nestled near the bustling town of Aberdeen. My name is Emma, a strong, grey mare with a flowing mane as white as the snowdrifts that grace these hills during winter. It's been a year of learning, growth, and quite frankly, a whole lot of hay! It feels like the perfect time to jot down some of the adventures that have graced my hooves in the year 0515 AD, and to share a glimpse into the world of horses in this particular moment in history.

Let me take you back to a crisp spring day when the earth awakened after its long slumber. I was a mere two years old, still learning the ways of the world and filled with an insatiable curiosity for everything around me. Back then, I was but a small colt, not quite as robust as I am today, and my hooves were just beginning to understand the feel of the sturdy Scottish earth beneath them.

My life began at a small farm, owned by the kindly Laird McLeod. A small, sturdy man with a booming voice and hands as rough as the stones on our hill, yet filled with a deep understanding of his livestock. It was there that I was born, amongst a sea of bleating sheep, a few sturdy cattle, and, of course, other horses - all just as eager to learn the ways of the world.

Early mornings were my favourite. The air was cool, tinged with the smell of dew and freshly turned earth. Laird McLeod would often join me for a sunrise walk, his hand resting firmly on my back as we made our way towards the vast fields of oat, the gold of the stalks shining in the rising sun. He'd tell me stories of battles long fought, of horses and men who stood side by side on the battlefield, a powerful connection etched into our history. His voice, weathered by time and experience, would paint vibrant images in my young mind, stories that would echo in my heart long after the sun had reached its peak.

While our days were mostly spent grazing and tending to the land, the presence of horses like me were far from trivial. We were vital cogs in the rural life of the day. The transportation of goods, hauling farm produce to markets, and, of course, carrying people to distant lands. It was a responsibility we held with honour, knowing that our strength and resilience were vital for the people we served.

The horses here in Hayfield were, much like myself, mostly draft horses. Strong and hardy, capable of hauling heavy loads across challenging terrain. We were known for our gentle nature and willingness to work, something that had been bred into our lineage for generations. Yet, in the villages nestled amongst these rolling hills, you would also find the smaller, nimbler breeds - spirited and swift, favoured by messengers, farmers, and merchants. Each with its unique contribution to the rhythm of our life.

My young life has been intertwined with the constant thrumming of change that characterises this time in history. Across the seas, whispers of empires rising and falling, of great conquests and bitter wars, had begun to trickle into Hayfield, carried on the wings of passing travellers and the rumbles of distant battles. Even though we lived in a land seemingly untouched by the chaos of war, its influence was undeniable. The need for transportation and the vital role horses play in conflict was felt keenly, even in this quiet corner of the world.

Just a few years before, in 0510 AD, there had been whispers of the Anglo-Saxon King Edmund being killed. Such tragedies shook even our small community, reminding us that power and conflict played out far beyond our immediate world. As if a ripple effect, a tremor ran through the lives of our brethren across the vast landscapes of Europe.

In the whispers and murmurs, stories travelled – tales of knights clad in shining armour riding majestic war steeds, their bravery echoing through the land. Horses were at the heart of this great conflict, carrying soldiers across vast distances, and often, standing as proud sentinels, even in the face of a mighty foe. Their importance in these events, a fierce yet noble tapestry of warfare, was never lost upon me.

As a young mare, I remember with vibrant clarity my first experience at the local horse fair. It was an annual event held in the town square, a gathering that brought people and their horses from miles around. Imagine a colourful spectacle, filled with the boisterous laughter of the merchants, the jingling of their wares, and the rhythmic pounding of hooves as they brought their charges into the marketplace.

There I met horses of all shapes and sizes, each bearing the unique markings that spoke of their heritage and purpose. I recall with fondness a gentle grey stallion, older than myself, with an air of wisdom that commanded respect. We stood side by side for a while, as if acknowledging a silent connection – the bond we shared as members of a noble and proud species.

His name, I learned later, was Magnus. A proud draught horse who had travelled many miles to offer his strength for the noble task of hauling the local mill’s heavy grindstones. We discussed our lives - he with a keen wisdom acquired over his long journey, I, with the naive exuberance of youth. It was that day I understood that a horse’s life was woven intricately with the lives of those around them - a community woven together through mutual need and respect.

I found myself captivated by the vibrant energy of the fair, the bustling marketplace teeming with horses being admired, their strength assessed, their skills appreciated. I watched as experienced horsemen examined each horse with practiced eyes, their hands running over coats, their fingers probing legs for signs of hidden injuries. A skill that took years to master, one that I would myself be trained for, learning to read the whispers of a horse’s spirit and the signs of their resilience.

My own time to stand at the market came eventually, and it was there that I met a man unlike anyone I'd known before. He wasn't a local farmer or a merchant looking for workhorses, but a man with eyes that held the spark of a traveler, and hands that knew the gentle touch of an experienced equestrian.

He introduced himself as Aidan, a wandering bard and storyteller who had journeyed across the world, witnessing a spectrum of emotions and landscapes. He was fascinated by our horses, their history and their purpose, and was travelling to find stories and create ballads celebrating our strength and grace.

He found me at the fair, drawn by my strength, my gentle nature, and perhaps, my own spirit that longed for adventure. He would need a sturdy steed, he said, one capable of carrying him and his music across treacherous mountain passes and unforgiving landscapes. We were to share the journey, I would carry him to lands beyond our imagination. He, with his words, would bring life to my experience, shaping the stories that I would share for centuries to come.

Aidan’s decision to take me was a leap of faith. He saw something in me - a resilience that echoed his own, a willingness to push the boundaries of my own strength. And with his hand resting gently on my back, a gentle but resolute man and a strong mare bound by a shared love for travel, we embarked on an adventure that would leave a lasting impression on both of us.

My travels with Aidan began with a feeling of nervous excitement. We left the safety of my Hayfield farm, leaving behind the comfort of the familiar in exchange for the allure of the unknown. We journeyed through landscapes I had only dreamt of – fields of swaying barley bathed in golden sunshine, forests so dense they seemed to breathe their own life, and rugged mountain passes that scraped the sky.

Our travels were not without their challenges. Days spent navigating unforgiving landscapes, facing rain that poured down like a waterfall, wind that whipped through our hair, and roads treacherous enough to test even the strongest of hooves. It was during these moments that my innate strength shone through, my willingness to press on through adversity solidifying the bond between us.

Aidan would recount stories to me during our travels, the music of his ballads echoing in the valleys. His stories painted vibrant portraits of horses, knights, kings and queens, reminding me of our rich heritage as a species, each story interwoven with the echoes of our long and enduring history.

He also spoke of distant lands beyond the sea – lands of scorching deserts and bustling cities. I listened with a yearning for new experiences, the unknown landscape stretching out before me like a blank canvas ready to be filled with adventures and stories. It was during one of our travels, under the cloak of a night filled with constellations I had never witnessed, that Aidan shared a legend I would forever carry in my heart.

He spoke of Kelpie, a mythical horse, a creature born from the mist and fog, dwelling in the mysterious depths of the Lochs in the Highlands. The tales were often whispered, often considered myths or fables. The locals described him as a magnificent beast - his coat shimmering with iridescent colours, the glint of his eyes holding the power of the wind, and his mane, a cascade of silver strands.

Kelpie was not a tame beast; he represented both the beauty and the untamed power of nature, the dangers of untamed forces lurking in the shadows. He was an emblem of both fear and fascination, whispered about by farmers and fishermen, worshipped by some, and avoided by others. It was said he was as cunning as he was powerful, using his captivating charm to lure those seeking refuge into the treacherous waters.

Though my life had not brought me to those waters yet, my heart yearned to witness such a majestic being. Perhaps, he did exist in the mist of the lochs, in the echoes of the windswept mountains. I would certainly seek him out someday.

My journeys with Aidan were far more than simple expeditions; they were a journey of self-discovery, a coming-of-age experience unlike any I could have imagined. I discovered my own resilience, my ability to persevere through harsh conditions, and my unwavering commitment to the task at hand.

It was with Aidan, beneath the starry sky of a moonless night, that I truly understood my power and purpose as a horse. My life was not just about tending the fields or transporting goods, it was about embracing the journey, appreciating the moments, and making an imprint on the world, one hoofprint at a time.

He, with his gentle kindness and insightful stories, gave me a voice. Through his music, my story found its way into the hearts and minds of those he shared his art with, etching my journey onto the very fabric of history.

But our travels, as they always do, came to an end. After many moons, as the scent of frost crept through the air, we found ourselves in a bustling town, a tapestry of vibrant colour and sound unlike anything I had seen before. The aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the pungent odour of roasted meat and the sweet perfume of spices – a kaleidoscope of flavours and sights unlike anything I had ever experienced before. It was in this bustling town that Aidan said his final goodbye, returning to the familiar comfort of his homeland.

And so, my adventures took me back to Hayfield, to the comforting routine of the farm, but forever changed by my experiences. I returned a strong, spirited mare, bearing the stories of a life beyond my wildest dreams, my hooves strong and confident.

I am not a farm horse, I realised. Though I had been bred to haul ploughs, my journey with Aidan, a journey of kindness and bravery, had instilled a fire in my soul. I may return to my simple life in Hayfield, but I am forever changed.

My story is but a drop in the vast ocean of equestrian history. Each of you, dear fellow equines, holds within you your own tales, your own journeys of bravery, endurance, and compassion. Let us keep telling our stories, let us celebrate the unique tapestry of experiences that define us as a species. And most importantly, let us never forget the powerful bond between humans and horses, a bond etched into the very fabric of our existence, a relationship that defines the tapestry of our world.

Until next time, friends. Keep galloping forward, keep your hearts full of passion, and may your mane and tails always flow in the wind.

Yours in hoofbeats,

Emma

(The Grey Draught Mare with a heart full of stories)