Hello there, fellow equines! It's Emma here, your grey draught mare from Hayfield, just outside Aberdeen. It's a blustery morning, but the sun's shining, so it's a perfect day to settle down with a fresh bale of hay and delve into some equine history, for you, my dearest readers!
Today, we're taking a trot back in time to the year 835 AD. It feels a lifetime ago, but as horses, we have such long memories, don't we? Now, picture this… Viking raids are a constant threat across the lands, and the world of horses is just as much a part of it all. While my ancestors were facing battles on the battlefields alongside men and women, I was living a peaceful life here in Hayfield. We were, at that time, a part of the Kingdom of Pictland, but things were changing fast!
The year 835 wasn't the most eventful for us Hayfield horses, but it was a year where I could really appreciate our role in our small world. We were working the fields, hauling loads, pulling ploughs, and, of course, carrying those lovely riders who could barely contain their excitement at the upcoming local feast. It was always a time for much merrymaking. We'd work tirelessly in the weeks leading up to the festival, hauling in goods, and transporting ingredients. Everyone would dress up, wear their finest attire, and feast with friends, family, and even the visiting monks. Our riders even started letting us munch on leftover treats and, let me tell you, those sweet bits from their platters were a real delicacy!
You know, even though I wasn't witnessing major historical events at the time, we played an important part in the lives of our people. Imagine the hardship if we didn't exist. How would they get their food? How would they transport themselves or their goods? The fact is, we are absolutely crucial to this society, and we've always been.
That said, even a year like 835 was full of its own intrigue and events. I remember the time a young colt, a beautiful chestnut called Finley, arrived with a young, blonde-haired lass who looked no older than 10. Finley, unlike any horse I’d ever met, seemed to know all the Viking raids by heart! I’d hear him tell the young lass stories about fearless Vikings and their fearsome, fierce warriors. It turned out, the girl's family had come from Norse lands and had fled, arriving here, just as the local ruler welcomed people of Viking descent in hope of forging strong allies. He hoped to stave off any attacks. It made me realise that, although the horses from different lands and races differed in appearance and maybe personality, we were all drawn together by the need to survive, to prosper, and to live in a community. I was proud of Finley’s stories, even if he seemed to hold a slight admiration for those ferocious Norsemen!
A little further down the track, the Kingdom of Pictland, the small realm we lived in, eventually merged with the powerful Kingdom of Dal Riata, further south, giving birth to the new Kingdom of Alba. That was a monumental shift! A sense of unity washed over everyone. And with this change came the promise of more opportunities for our horses. I witnessed our riders exchanging goods with those from further afield. People started travelling between the two regions more frequently, using their trusty steeds to get them where they needed to be. It felt like a turning point!
This merging, it did open doors for trade. It was an incredible sight, all those horses and wagons, carrying various goods. I recall witnessing rows upon rows of horses, all lined up for the journey south, and another, just as massive, returning with wool from sheep in the south, all neatly piled onto their backs. We were the backbone of trade. There was a certain sense of pride to be part of the journey, to see our role in building connections between these people and lands.
It was around this time, just a few years after the union of the kingdoms, that our community realised our horses were an asset in building even more connections. The young folk were increasingly exchanging ideas and even languages. Some young men even traveled far to the southern kingdom of England, and those who returned had their horse as their trusted companion. These exchanges created more pathways for our horse world to learn and share stories! We found new training methods, new saddles and bridles.
As we travelled more, our riders brought with them knowledge from afar. That is how we came to be a bridge between cultures. Our stories, whether whispered under starry skies or shouted in the face of a gale, echoed a connection, a shared heritage across lands. And that's exactly why I find it so important to record our own little horse history, here at EquiWorld, my dear readers. We must preserve those stories, learn from them, and, ultimately, use them to bring our entire community of horses, from every land, together.
This brings us to the end of this little tale from the year 835. As you know, history never really ends; it continues to flow and transform, as we do. But let me tell you, even a small, unassuming grey mare from a small Hayfield in the highlands, can play her own significant part in this ever-changing journey of our history. And so it goes, dear readers! I hope this tale has shown that every day, even in an ordinary year, a little horse like me can witness something magical! Don't forget to leave your own thoughts and comments down below, and until next time, keep galloping and keep shining!
Emma
