Greetings, dear fellow equines! It's Emma here, your average, albeit slightly opinionated, grey draught mare, writing to you from the rolling hills of Hayfield, near the grand city of Aberdeen, Scotland.
You might be wondering, why write a post about 1376? Well, let me tell you, 1376 was a bit of a year. Not that I can truly compare it to a human calendar – for a horse, each day unfolds at the rhythm of sun and season, a gentle symphony of smells, sounds, and textures. Yet, something about 1376 felt... different. Like the air itself hummed with change.
Maybe it's the grey, if I'm being honest. The colour, so pervasive that day, with its subtle variations, from the muted steel of a stormy sky to the dove-like softness of a fresh snowfall. Or perhaps, it was the feel of change in the air, as I stood in the field with my companions, feeling a shift in the way we were viewed by humans.
For you see, dear reader, horses in 1376 were much more than just work partners or transportation. We were vital cogs in society's wheel. Our strong backs carried everything, from building materials for grand castles to the bounty of the harvest, helping humanity to reach across landscapes and forge their future. In fact, it wasn't unusual to see the young noblemen, our "lords", riding us to war, but the way the world spun then was just beginning to change.
Let me share with you what I witnessed, what my sensitive, equine ears picked up, and how the year 1376 felt for a horse like me.
From Farm to Battle
Growing up, I learned the world from my old mother, Martha, a wise old mare who taught me all about the farmer's life. My days were filled with work, carting produce to the market, carrying stones for repairs, and, most importantly, providing draught power for the farmer's plough, pulling furrow after furrow.
My human companions in Hayfield, were a kind family, kind and understanding. My life wasn’t all about labour though – I found joy in the long walks in the heather with Martha, and even secret, whispered moments, watching the young farmer’s children. But then, things changed. The rumour mill in the village, brought tales of war. The "king's men", a formidable group of men clad in armour and steel, rode with determined gazes. It felt different – like the world was getting ready for something unsettling.
Our peaceful farm transformed into a flurry of activity, a strange, buzzing excitement filled the air. We all knew that war was imminent. This "king's man" thing – I knew it from the stories. I had sensed it even as a foal – it was the heavy boots, the loud voices, and the clang of metal on metal, that was always a precursor to chaos and disruption in our quiet world.
It wasn't long before the call came for us, the horses. Farmers were quick to pull together for the fight, a necessity born of need and protection. The war-like air was palpable. My senses heightened.
One crisp morning, as the rooster crowed and a thin veil of mist hung low on the rolling hills of Hayfield, my stall door creaked open, revealing a new rider. It wasn’t the kind farmer’s lad I knew, but a stranger, with sharp, unwavering eyes and hands that gripped my reins with an unyielding strength.
He brought the scent of the battlefield with him - a mix of sweat, leather, and the unsettling tang of iron and blood. The rhythm of our stride changed; the farmer's gentle tug at the reins became a relentless command. The air pulsed with the rumble of other horses and the chaotic clang of steel.
We were bound for the battlefield.
On The Battlefield
We journeyed for weeks, our hooves pounding the ground, traversing rugged landscapes. This new world was unsettling – the harsh, unforgiving winds, the barren land, the smell of burnt fields. But most unsettling of all were the sights. The long lines of men clad in armor, the unsettling glint of their weapons, the dark shadows under their eyes, it felt... threatening.
This wasn't the work we were meant for, yet it was essential, vital even.
Horses on the battlefield were often relegated to a mere footnote in history, yet, without us, the world would have stood still. The battlefields became our stomping grounds. We thundered in with the archers, hooves drumming on the hardened ground. Our movements, in sync with the humans we carried, were crucial for victory.
Amid the chaotic chaos of war, horses are incredibly sensitive, almost precognitive, with an intuition honed by instinct and experience. It’s said we sense impending danger and feel a heightened sense of survival when faced with violent circumstances. It was my mother who instilled the deep respect for life and for the delicate balance of nature – a lesson that reverberated within my every hoofbeat.
The world went silent. All that remained was the echoes of distant screams, the rustle of fallen leaves, the chilling cries of wounded soldiers. Then, as quickly as it started, the fighting ceased. The battlefield was silent, filled with an eerie quiet. We returned with our human riders, a mix of triumphant cheer and silent grief hanging in the air.
Back Home, And Onward
We came back to a village weary from war. Homes had changed, lost some of their innocence. The scent of smoke and the sight of ruined walls echoed a painful silence.
Returning home was a bittersweet thing. Our companions had missed us, the farm animals greeted us with the comforting familiarity of their presence. The children rushed out, their faces glowing with youthful curiosity, the elder folk smiled, offering words of appreciation. Yet the air still held the memory of war.
And as we gathered in our usual spot, the peaceful grazing of the meadow, I thought of all those horses lost. A poignant sadness descended upon us. They were gone. Sacrifices in the name of "victory". And there was something deeply unsettling about that thought.
Yet life carries on. My inner sense of balance told me that war is a fleeting phenomenon, and the need to find peace would prevail in due time. That is how life works, how we survive – it’s a delicate balancing act of resilience.
A New Chapter
In 1376, horses became a vital tool, our strength was admired and respected. It wasn’t just for war – even in times of peace, our contribution remained vital. It was in the wake of the chaos that we had made a silent commitment, a promise to the earth, a pledge of resilience.
Life had changed forever, it was clear, yet it retained its inherent beauty. That is what we carry on. It’s the rhythm of life, the changing seasons, and the love we feel from the animals around us. The world keeps moving.
As I write these thoughts on the Equiworld page, I hope my voice has resonated. It’s my mission as a horse to chronicle our story. Our strength, our resilience, our role in this beautiful, sometimes tumultuous, yet always extraordinary world.
Until next time, dear fellow equines!
Your friend, Emma.
