Greetings, fellow equines and horse lovers! Emma here, a proud grey mare with a snowy mane and tail, sharing my life with you on this fine day in 866. For those who are new, my home is in the bustling little town of Hayfield, nestled in the foothills of the majestic Grampian Mountains in the beautiful Scottish highlands.
Today, my thoughts turn back to a year that was… well, just life, really! I wasn’t keeping a diary back then (it wasn’t exactly in fashion), so what I recall are mostly moments that left an indelible mark on my hoof-prints.
The year started out bright and breezy, with the air tinged with the sweet smell of freshly churned butter from the farm and the excited chirping of young chicks in the nearby coop. The fields were green and bursting with clover, a delight to graze on with my herd mates. Ah, the joy of simply being a horse! We frolicked in the meadows, our sleek bodies gleaming in the morning sunlight, tails whipping in the wind as we chased each other around in carefree exuberance.
As the spring gave way to summer, my human companions – a kind man named Angus and his wife Elspeth – began planning for the annual Highland Games. I was still a young mare then, eager to learn and do my best. The training was hard work, but with Angus' gentle guidance and the unwavering encouragement from Elspeth, I steadily learned to pull the cart carrying the heavy timber for the Caber Toss. It felt amazing to be a part of such an important tradition, and seeing the crowd cheering made my heart thrum with pride.
The Highland Games were a colourful spectacle of daring feats, lively music, and of course, horses! I loved the atmosphere of joyful camaraderie, watching other horses, young and old, putting their strength and agility to the test. It wasn’t all competition though – I savoured the quiet moments by the banks of the river Dee, listening to Angus tell stories of the old days. It’s remarkable how much knowledge he holds, from ancient myths about the Celts and their connection to horses, to the secrets of their legendary horse breeding and training techniques.
Of course, life for a working horse in those days wasn’t all about games and festivities. Our work was vital – transporting goods and crops, tilling the land, and serving as loyal companions to our humans. Each morning, I would wake up with the rooster's crow, and soon enough, I would be harnessed to the cart, my sturdy build well-suited for pulling even the heaviest loads. I hauled barley to the mill, carried wood for the village carpenter, and even assisted in bringing in the harvest – a task I particularly enjoyed because of the satisfying crunch of ripe grain under my hooves.
There were times when the journey was long and tiring, but the sense of purpose fuelled me. Seeing the smiles on the faces of those who benefited from my work filled me with satisfaction. I often marvelled at the silent understanding between myself and Angus. A simple tug on the reins, a flick of my ear, and we knew exactly what the other was thinking. That silent connection, built on trust and mutual respect, is what makes the partnership between human and horse truly magical.
While our life in Hayfield was a comfortable one, news of great change was travelling with the winds across the vast Scottish Highlands. Word of the Vikings, those fierce warriors who had invaded and conquered lands as far as Ireland, had reached us. Stories, often embellished, were exchanged around the fire during the evenings – tales of Viking longships that sailed upon the turbulent seas, of raids that spread terror, and of the bravery of our fellow countrymen who stood against them.
I could feel a sense of unease in the air, a shadow of anxiety clouding the bright laughter that once resonated through the valley. The news of Viking raids in the south did nothing to soothe our hearts, and the fear of their wrath hovered like a dark cloud over the village. Angus often spent long hours in deep conversation with other farmers, discussing the possibility of attacks and devising strategies to protect their families and livelihood.
And it was not only news from distant shores that kept our hearts pounding. Local events kept us alert. We heard murmurs of Viking ships spotted sailing up the coast, casting a fearsome shadow over our usually peaceful shores. There was a palpable sense of unease. Families gathered in their houses for the evenings, their hushed voices echoing through the quiet darkness, and the warmth of the fire offered both comfort and a source of light in those dark times.
Then one day, the unthinkable happened. The Vikings attacked a village further down the valley. They ravaged the lands, stole livestock, and carried off prisoners, their thunderous laughter ringing across the hills as they retreated towards their longships. I will never forget the horrifying spectacle – the fear etched on the faces of those who fled before the Viking advance, the sounds of terrified cries echoing across the mountains.
Angus and the men in the village fortified themselves. They gathered all their courage, their horses, and their weapons, ready to defend their homes. Fear gnawed at me, but I knew I was not meant for battle. My role, Angus reminded me, was to stay calm, be strong, and remain a source of hope for Elspeth and the villagers. My strong build, and the gentle disposition that allowed me to be trusted with children, gave me a place in helping the villagers. I even had the privilege of assisting Elspeth by transporting precious items to safer locations.
One particular day, while transporting Elspeth’s belongings, we had a close encounter with the Vikings. I felt the rumble of their footsteps behind me, their heavy armor scraping on the stone pathways as they rounded a corner, coming face to face with us. Elspeth, her heart in her mouth, clung tightly to my reins. My instincts were to flee, but my senses were calm. With a quiet neigh, I pressed my ear against Elspeth's hand, calming her nerves and my own, whispering “It is okay, be brave.” Her touch, gentle yet reassuring, gave me strength, reminding me that we must persevere. Thankfully, they did not engage. With a swift glance, their steely eyes focused on a more vulnerable prey, and they disappeared, leaving us in the eerie silence.
Through it all, my relationship with Angus and Elspeth deepened. Their kindness and compassion, coupled with the strength they exhibited in the face of adversity, earned my respect and solidified my loyalty. In these moments of hardship, we drew closer, humans and horses, a shared purpose holding us together. It wasn't just about pulling carts, it was about being a vital part of something larger than ourselves – the community, our shared survival, and our unwavering resilience in the face of adversity.
Despite the ominous shadows cast by Viking raids, the year 866 offered an invaluable lesson. We learned that, even amidst chaos, resilience thrives, courage shines, and love persists. It is through these difficult moments that our bonds strengthen, and we are reminded of the inherent spirit that makes both humans and horses such extraordinary creatures. The human race was no stranger to hardships, it had been navigating the challenges of existence for millennia. This Viking invasion was only one chapter, one test to face in the continuous story.
As 866 came to a close, there was a newfound understanding amongst the inhabitants of Hayfield, a shared appreciation of the resilience of our human and equine bonds. And even if a sense of fear still lingered, there was a deep and enduring sense of hope in our hearts, hope for a future where peace would prevail, and our land would thrive once more.
And now, friends, I must sign off! I hope you enjoyed this journey through time with me. Please share your own memories of 866, or any other significant historical moments for horses. Together, we can paint a richer tapestry of equine history for the ages. Until next time!
With neighs and whinnies, Emma
