Greetings, fellow equines and horse enthusiasts!
It's Emma here, your trusty blogger from Hayfield, near Aberdeen. I know what you're thinking - another year in the 10th century. What could possibly be newsworthy about a time that seems so long ago? But trust me, friends, even a year like 0940 has a tale to tell!
This year was one of steady routines and good health for the horses of Hayfield. We thrived, my dear stablemates and I, under the careful care of our farmers. You see, we're draught horses here, built for strength and stamina, hauling ploughs across the fertile land, pulling wagons laden with barley and oats to the market, and delivering much-needed supplies to distant villages.
Each sunrise, we felt the invigorating Highland breeze whipping across the rolling hills as we went about our day, the crisp air nipping at our noses. There was a kind of contented rhythm to it all, and each day, I felt grateful for our peaceful lives.
This year, there was a particular sense of peace in our part of Scotland. The air was free of the heavy dread of battle, the shouts and thundering of warhorses absent from the fields and meadows. Our land felt blessed by an unusual tranquility. But even without the constant threat of warfare, there was much going on in the world beyond Hayfield, as I learnt from my dear friend Angus, the wizened, old cart horse who always knew what was happening, both far and wide.
He regaled me with tales of Vikings, those hardy, seafaring warriors who had been wreaking havoc in distant lands for years. Apparently, this year they had taken over England's glorious, historic city, York. You can imagine the talk among the horses in Hayfield - all shock, curiosity, and a little bit of awe!
Even with their ferocious reputation, Vikings held a place of admiration amongst us, as I imagine they did amongst people. They were warriors, but also clever traders who often sought to barter for goods rather than fight. In fact, the Viking ships that carried those warriors were built to handle even the roughest seas and carried livestock with them, just like ourselves! There was an undeniable respect between humans and horses on both sides, a sense of common ground forged on journeys across uncharted lands.
But we couldn’t ignore the unsettling murmurs of turmoil far from our tranquil hills. My fellow horse brethren and I felt a strange stirring of apprehension - a prickling along our spines. We felt a shift in the very fabric of our lives. As the year wore on, news reached Hayfield that King Eric, the reigning Viking monarch, had died in England, leaving behind a power vacuum. This triggered a long, bloody struggle for power amongst the remaining Viking warlords.
And while the threat of these conflicts felt distant in our peaceful Highland haven, we still shared a sense of nervous energy. It was the sort of energy that makes you tense your muscles, tighten your grip on the reins, and take an extra moment to survey the horizon.
Meanwhile, closer to home, we welcomed new members to our community this year. The farmer's wife, Maeve, brought a delightful foal to the barn. The tiny filly was a chestnut, like a spark of fire against the crisp, cool air. They called her "Glimmer," a perfect name, for she filled every corner with warmth and light, her energy infectious, like the first blooms of spring.
I dote on the little filly. She is an insatiable student, full of curiosity. It was my honour to be the one she followed with the most affection. My white tail, she thought, was a beacon in the barn, something to strive towards, something to chase after with unbridled joy. My kind farmer, Malcolm, is teaching her to lead, show her the way around, the rhythm of work. I believe he’s secretly planning on her being a mighty work horse just like the rest of us.
Her excitement fills each day with new adventures, and I can't help but revel in the spirit of a fresh start she brings.
As the days grew shorter and colder, the annual harvest had come to an end. But our work wasn't finished! We transported logs and timbers for winter fires. We hauled buckets of peat, the fuel that kept our stables warm through the icy months. And even with snow dusting the fields and icicles hanging from the eaves of the barns, there was a sense of deep contentment settling upon our lives.
The year 0940 is drawing to a close, my friends. A year of quiet reflection in Hayfield, and one marked by the churning waters of conflict elsewhere. It’s a constant reminder of our place in this vast world, of the interweaving destinies that tie us to the people, animals, and events that unfold far beyond our reach.
Now, I'm off to enjoy a good supper of oats, ready to rest and dream of the adventures that the new year may bring!
Until next time, friends, stay warm and well. And remember - horses are much like history - even a quiet year can have stories waiting to be uncovered.
