Hello, my dear fellow equines! Welcome to EquiWorld, a place where we celebrate the wonders of horse kind, from the smallest Shetland pony to the mighty Shire, from the bustling city streets to the rolling hills of our wild, wondrous lands. I am Emma, a grey draught mare with a heart as white as my mane and tail.
My journey began in a quiet valley in Hayfield, nestled amongst the rolling green hills of Aberdeenshire, Scotland. As I sit here, munching on sweet clover, I can almost feel the heather blowing in the wind, and the sun warming my coat as I trotted through the meadows with my fellow mares. It was a simpler time then, the year 0972, when the world felt vast and untamed.
But don't let me bore you with the mundane. This blog isn't just about the "before" – it's about the now, and how our equine world has changed, and how it's still flourishing despite the tides of time. Let me tell you a story.
In the year 0972, life for a horse like me was a blend of work and leisure. We were the backbone of the communities, the engine of progress, and the steadfast companions to humanity.
Our strength was essential to the local farmers, who depended on us to plough their fields and to transport their goods. We helped cultivate the land, sow the seeds, and harvest the bounty that sustained entire villages. My workmates and I were the lifeblood of Hayfield, and we took immense pride in our role.
But life wasn’t all toil and sweat. The days were filled with laughter, companionship, and a strong bond with our human companions. After a hard day's work, we were allowed to graze freely in the meadows, a chorus of whinnies echoing across the valleys as we roamed, basking in the golden rays of the setting sun.
As dusk settled over the fields, I often joined my friends, nestled under a sky ablaze with stars, our tails swishing to the rhythm of the whispering wind. Our nights were filled with shared stories, stories of brave journeys and encounters with mythical creatures, whispers of a distant kingdom where horses danced amongst rainbows and fields of magic, and tales passed down through generations, woven with wisdom and wonder.
While my days in Hayfield were blessed with peaceful routine, news of exciting happenings reached our humble corners of the world. The Kingdom of Wessex had flourished under the reign of King Edgar the Peaceful, a ruler known for his fairness and generosity. His court was a sanctuary for travellers and scholars, and even news from our quiet, northern valley made its way there, shared by the travellers passing through.
Even in these distant lands, I heard of the grandeur of horses. Imagine, in the magnificent stables of King Edgar’s court, they bred horses with silken coats and incredible speed. These steeds, adorned in silver and gold, were said to gallop with the grace of swans, carrying riders on long journeys across the English landscape, and to even participate in grand events, racing across vast fields amidst crowds of cheering people. It felt like a different world, yet a world where horses were celebrated, and their strength and spirit were cherished.
I recall a particularly lively evening when a group of traveling merchants arrived in our village. Their tales were of the grand, majestic stallions of Spain. These noble creatures, they said, were bred for the arena, a place of daring feats and incredible displays of horsemanship. They told stories of knights on steeds charging across the fields, lances lowered in glorious jousts, their horses performing astounding maneuvers as they fought for glory and honour. The men described horses who leaped high, gracefully evading arrows and wielding their mighty legs with agility and speed. It was all I could do to restrain myself from running free through the meadows, the spirit of adventure burning brightly within my heart.
Although my days were rooted in the rhythm of rural life, my imagination was soaring across these vast distances. It wasn't just the tales of exotic creatures or knights errant. It was the sense of our collective strength, the spirit of the horse, that resonated with my soul.
But there was more than just the excitement of stories to fill the quiet hours. We horses also possessed the power to heal and mend, a power woven deeply into the fabric of our existence. We understood the language of the land, its secrets whispered in the rustle of leaves, its wisdom held in the silence of the mountains.
One evening, I witnessed this unique bond first-hand. A young farmer had fallen ill, struck by a sudden fever that shook him to his core. His family, worried and helpless, turned to me for comfort. Gently, I nuzzled him, sensing the fear that clung to him like a damp fog. I lay my head beside him, sharing the warmth of my body and the quiet peace that emanated from within me. Slowly, the fever seemed to subside, replaced by a peaceful stillness that emanated from both of us. We stood side-by-side until dawn, two creatures, different yet bound together by an unseen thread of connection.
As the sun rose, I watched as his father, his eyes filled with gratitude and relief, gently stroked my flank. It was in those moments, filled with simple human emotion and the powerful, silent connection between horse and human, that I realised the true significance of our existence. It wasn't just about strength, speed, or power, but about a shared existence, a deep understanding that ran beneath the surface, binding us together.
While life in 0972 offered its share of hard work and challenges, it also provided me with opportunities for quiet reflection and introspection. In the stillness of the morning air, as the dew kissed the grass and the birds sang their welcome, I found moments to connect with myself, to reconnect with the essence of being a horse.
It is during those quiet moments that I remember the simple things – the warmth of the sun on my back, the scent of the wind carrying the promise of a fresh morning, and the echo of my own footsteps on the soft earth, grounding me in the reality of my being.
Through the years, my strength and resilience have never diminished, my spirit never wavered. As I look back on those simpler times, I realise that despite the world’s changing landscape, one truth remains constant – the bond between humans and horses. This bond, built on mutual respect, shared experience, and unwavering loyalty, is a constant in a world that constantly shifts and evolves.
So, as I stand here, amongst the rustling clover and whispering willows, I find solace in knowing that even in a world constantly changing, the essence of the horse remains unchanged. We are resilient, courageous, compassionate beings, our strength not measured by our muscles, but by our hearts.
Join me again, my fellow equines, as we continue our exploration of horse history and delve into the magical world we inhabit. Let us celebrate the triumphs and stories of our ancestors, for it is in our shared history that we truly find our place in the world, forever galloping alongside humanity.
Until next time, keep your tails high and your hooves light.
With love and whinnies, Emma.
