Hello there, fellow equines! Emma here, your trusty grey draught mare with a penchant for history from Hayfield, just outside of Aberdeen. It’s been a while since I last updated my little corner of the internet, what with the busy harvest season and all! But I’ve finally managed to find a moment to sit down and pen my thoughts, a gentle clop of my hoof upon the keyboard, and share a glimpse into the world of horses in the year 658. Buckle up, my dear readers, for this is a journey through time.
The wind whips across the heather, sending a chill down my back. A crisp autumn day in Hayfield, with a dusting of snow settling on the distant peaks of the Cairngorms. You see, 658 is a fascinating year for a horse like me. The world is changing – subtly, perhaps, but change nonetheless. There’s a sense of growth and evolution that you can almost taste in the air, carried by the crisp, invigorating wind.
It’s not just the weather. Even in our quiet little Hayfield, a world away from the bustling cities of the south, life feels different. There's more activity than I remember from previous years. More journeys undertaken by cart, more trade goods being moved, and with it, more demand for the work we do, my brethren and I. The Romans have left a distinct imprint on this land, bringing new ideas, new tools, and a whole new world of opportunity.
Today, I stand outside the bustling marketplace, the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread mingling with the strong, earthy scent of horses. My cart is loaded with oats and barley, ready for the journey back home. It’s the same route we always take, but there’s a new confidence in my step, a pride in my strong shoulders, that wouldn't have been there just a few decades ago. I pull a small cart – not the towering war chariots of yore, but my own little two-wheeled carriage, with sturdy oak wheels and iron fittings, a gift of ingenuity from our Roman neighbours.
My life, like most other horses around here, revolves around the land. Our primary work is farming, hauling plows and carts, and assisting in the gathering of harvest. I can see the gratitude in my human companion’s eyes when he returns from the field with a load of barley, his shoulders stooped but his face alight with pride. And that's enough for me.
It's fascinating to think that across the sea, in faraway lands, my brethren play different roles. Some serve as noble steeds, ridden by warriors with shimmering armour and swords glinting in the sun. Others are powerful chargers, used in battles and contests, their thunderous hooves a symphony of war and valor. Then there are those, like myself, who find joy in the simple work of the fields, enriching the lives of those around them, and contributing to the growth of communities.
Even here in Hayfield, we find subtle hints of these variations. The young colts, their eyes full of excitement, are often compared to valiant knights. And our sturdy draft mares, like me, are cherished as the hardworking farmers who keep our village thriving.
I often dream of travelling to these distant lands. To gallop across vast plains, the wind whipping through my mane, to feel the thrumming power of my muscles beneath me, to carry a rider into battle, or even perhaps to witness the grand spectacle of a chariot race! These stories, whispered by the travellers passing through Hayfield, fill my heart with a strange, longing sort of excitement.
While dreams of far-off adventures fill my nights, the reality of my days is grounded in the simple yet essential work that a draught horse like myself provides. It’s the small, repetitive tasks – pulling a plough through the rich soil, hauling firewood across the rough terrain, bringing in the harvest – that bring meaning and satisfaction to my life. These actions feed families, strengthen communities, and keep the wheels of life turning, much like my own powerful hooves keep my cart rolling forward.
And then there are the moments that truly brighten my day, small acts of kindness and warmth that remind me why this life is so rewarding. A young child's laughter as he clings to the reins while I gently pull him in his toy cart. The gentle hand of my human companion resting on my flank, a sign of affection and respect for the work I do. The sweet hay shared at the end of a long day, the scent of hay blending with the warmth of the fire that burns in our stable.
These simple joys are the heart of our lives as working horses, and it is through these moments, these little gestures of love and companionship, that I truly find my place in this ever-changing world.
Recently, we’ve had a new arrival at our stables, a sleek chestnut gelding called Rowan. He came from the far south, arriving on a ship, a sight that caused a small commotion in Hayfield. His coat gleams like polished copper, and he moves with a grace that’s almost foreign to my sturdy build. Rowan arrived with a young noblewoman, dressed in rich colours, riding with an elegance I've never seen before. He tells tales of journeys along the coast, of grand cities, and the glittering opulence of Roman civilization.
But for all his fancy travels and noble rider, there’s a calmness about Rowan, a wisdom that seems to go beyond his years. He enjoys the quietude of Hayfield just as much as I do. He tells me of races in the great amphitheatres of the south, of their power and their majesty, the thrill of the crowds, and the cheers that echoed through the arena.
Rowan's tales of a world far removed from Hayfield broaden my horizons. He speaks of an increasing number of riders training for long-distance journeys, bringing news and ideas between villages and cities, creating a network of connectedness that continues to weave its way through the fabric of our lives. These riders are messengers, travelling far and wide, and their skills and speed make them vital contributors to the growth of society. They serve not just to transmit information, but to inspire a sense of connectedness between distant communities, fostering understanding and trade.
And yet, despite the allure of these exciting stories, Rowan seems content here, content with the simple rhythms of Hayfield life, content to share a quiet evening in the stables with a fellow horse who understands the value of a simple life. This is a comfort, for there’s a wisdom to this life that the noble steeds of far-off cities may never know.
My days continue to be a blend of familiar routines and new experiences. It’s the year 658, a time of transition, where the old world is blending with the new. From the robust cart-horses like me to the nimble chargers, every horse plays its role in the shaping of this world. We carry burdens, we inspire hope, we embody strength and grace, and we connect communities.
Whether I stand patiently in the field or move with pride across the Hayfield marketplace, each day brings new discoveries, new stories, and a growing sense of purpose. In a world on the verge of something new and exciting, it’s a good life to be a horse. A horse with a heart that beats with the rhythm of the land, a soul that carries the echoes of history, and a future full of promise.
Until next time, my equine friends, and may your hooves always tread with strength and your spirits forever remain light!
Emma, The Grey Draught Horse of Hayfield.
