Hayfield, 1336
A blustery Scottish wind whips through my white mane as I gaze across the rolling green hills of Hayfield. It's a crisp, clear autumn day, the kind that makes the heather blaze with crimson and purple. But today, I feel more than a chill in the air - a sense of anticipation.
You might wonder why I’m sitting here, idly chewing on a mouthful of rough grass, instead of diligently pulling a plough or hauling a cart. It’s because, well, today is my birthday! I’m turning twenty, and a grey draught mare with a white mane and tail like mine deserves a moment to reflect, wouldn’t you say?
I’ve lived a good life so far, surrounded by a loving herd, led by our strong, gentle stallion, Big Ben. Our farm, Hayfield, sits nestled against the foothills of the Cairngorms. We work hard, we rest well, and we enjoy each other’s company. I can't help but feel a pang of longing for the time when I was just a foal, full of mischief and energy. Ah, those days! But my youthful energy now fuels me to be a reliable member of the team. The strength and purpose in my legs serve a noble purpose.
As I chew and reflect, a young girl, Margaret, walks past. She’s just 12 years old but carries herself with the maturity of someone much older. She has a special bond with horses, especially with me. Often she’ll whisper stories of knights and quests while I stand patiently, her head resting on my thick neck. The stories always end with her gazing up at me, eyes bright with imagination.
“Emma,” she whispers one day, “Do you think knights like you?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my breath making a warm puff of air.
“I mean, would they see you, not just as a horse but as a companion? Someone who can feel, understand, and even help them achieve their dreams?”
My ears twitch, a familiar pang of sadness flitting through me. She’s touched upon something I can only feel but cannot fully articulate. Humans… they use us, sure, for farming, for hauling, for transport, and, in many ways, they respect us for our strength and our loyalty. But to truly understand us? That’s something different entirely.
The other day, I overheard Margaret’s mother telling her that the year 1336 was set to be a significant one for the horses of the world. Something about a King called Edward of England needing thousands of horses to join his army in France, the king being the only one with horses… who knew he wanted thousands?! Margaret explained it to me afterwards. Seems the war’s being fought over a crown. But to be honest, all this seems distant and abstract compared to the simple life of our farm.
There are new challenges for me this year too. Margaret’s parents have recently acquired a fine young colt, named Douglas. He's got all the energy of a newborn foal with the stubbornness of a veteran bull! Teaching him to respect boundaries and obey orders is a delightful but taxing job, just as much as my responsibilities in the fields.
Today, I watch Margaret race towards the village, excitement bubbling over in her footsteps. I know the excitement's over a new development. There’s a new knight in the village, and she is, naturally, filled with wonder! This knight, her mother told her, arrived from afar with a band of companions, all of them seasoned warriors, their steeds magnificent and gleaming with health and strength.
A surge of curiosity fills me. I wonder what it’s like to gallop with a rider, to be a part of a powerful force, a warrior on horseback, facing the challenges of a world beyond my little green corner of the world. My breath catches in my chest as a new image forms in my mind - a vision of my hooves drumming the ground, a plume of mane trailing in the wind, me running with a powerful knight at my side. It’s a thrilling picture, but a little frightening as well.
Maybe I'm meant to be a simple working horse. I serve my farm, and I am loved for it. My purpose, however humble, brings a certain contentment to my heart.
Yet, still… the lure of the unknown lingers. It’s hard to ignore the stirring within, a silent, urgent calling of the spirit that can only be described as the yearning to find meaning beyond the ordinary, to prove my strength, my courage, to become something bigger than myself.
Maybe… maybe someday.
And so, I stand in the evening light, bathed in the soft glow of a setting sun. I am a mare of simple joys, rooted in a simple existence. I feel the comforting strength of my strong, sturdy body. I sense the boundless love for my friends and family, the earth under my feet, and the soft wind ruffling my mane. I am a horse.
The horses of the world may be going to war this year, but I’ll stay here, with Margaret and her stories, with the warm grass and the scent of wildflowers.
I'm just Emma, a grey mare in Hayfield, content to be just that - a simple horse in a simple place. But even simple horses have their dreams, don't they?
[End of Post #1336]
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