A Year of Grace and Gratitude: 1391 - The Eyes of a Draught Horse
By Emma, Grey Draught Mare from Hayfield, near Aberdeen
Hello, my dearest EquiWorld friends! Emma here, from the windswept pastures of Hayfield, and it's been a while, hasn't it? Life as a working horse is full to the brim with adventures and lessons, both big and small, and I do hope you'll join me for this one.
The year is 1391, and the crisp, fresh air of springtime hangs in the air. As I write this (using a special charcoal crayon gifted to me by my good friend the Stable Boy, Thomas), the sun shines, a warm blanket over the rolling hills and my sturdy, grey coat. I have the most beautiful white mane and tail, just like a snowy plume, and sometimes, when the wind plays with my mane, I imagine it whispering tales of a long forgotten past. But for now, the present beckons, a chorus of gentle "cluck clucks" and the rhythmic crunch of hooves on the cobblestones of my village, Hayfield.
Hayfield: Where Tradition Meets Grit
Our little village nestles near Aberdeen, a charming, busy harbour town bustling with the energy of trade and commerce. Here, at Hayfield, life is slower, grounded by the rhythm of the seasons, a symphony played out on our windswept hills and fields rich with crops, where oats and barley are our staple diet. You know how much we draught horses love our oats - those little golden gems packed with energy, perfect for a day of hard work.
The men of our village are strong, rugged, and kind, their hands roughened by toil but gentle in their dealings with us, their animal friends. They've a keen respect for the earth, the animals that work the land, and the sky above - the sky which paints glorious rainbows over our hills when it rains, or throws a curtain of dazzling stars over the moonlit fields at night.
You see, here in Hayfield, the bond between human and animal is strong, an unbreakable cord woven through generations, each strand adding strength and stability. This bond, it shines through everything, from the simple act of grooming to the shared sweat and triumph during harvest.
The Rhythms of 1391: Horses, Men, and The Land
But let me take you back to a time when spring had barely taken hold. I was just turning 20 years old, with a heart full of youthful vigor and a strength that allowed me to pull a plough across a field without a single break. Those days, those first few months of 1391, were spent working the fields alongside my fellow draught horses, our bodies a synchronized symphony of muscle and might. We ploughed the rich earth, sowed seeds, and nurtured the burgeoning life that promised abundance later in the year.
We had long days, we had tiring days, but our rewards were bountiful. The warm glow of the sun on our flanks, the camaraderie of our fellow horses, and the quiet contentment we found in our work - these things were our reward, and our strength.
Evenings were spent under the watchful eye of the stars, sharing stories of the day with the other horses in the stable, each one a testament to our shared experience.
But our work wasn't just about ploughing fields and tending crops. Our skills were varied and vital - essential threads in the fabric of our village life.
I'll never forget the time I helped move a mighty oak tree, felled by a storm, from the mountainside to the village. It was a challenging task, requiring all our strength and skill, but the men, with their firm guidance and encouraging voices, helped us conquer the task.
Our World - A Kaleidoscope of Horses
Oh, but the world of horses in 1391, it was a truly fascinating one. A dazzling tapestry, if you will, woven with countless shades of purpose, strength, and spirit. We were more than mere work animals; we were essential, trusted companions, a reflection of the very soul of our village.
Imagine this: horses used for everything from carting supplies and pulling carts full of freshly gathered grain, to carrying people over long distances and transporting valuable cargo.
Some of my cousins in France are war horses - powerful steeds, brave and strong, ready to serve on battlefields under the guidance of their knight. I remember hearing about their battles from a travelling merchant. His stories painted a vivid picture of courage and fierce loyalty. He even spoke of a brave chestnut stallion called "Blaze," whose rider was a great warrior who had lost an arm in a battle but fought with even greater ferocity after the incident! Such stories instilled awe and respect for these noble creatures.
Of course, the great jousting tournaments were a magnificent spectacle. I've heard whispers about the noble steeds used in these tournaments, bred for speed and agility, trained for daring feats of skill and grace. Some say the tournaments themselves were an art form, a display of beauty, strength, and the enduring bond between horse and rider.
The Magic of a Good Ride
On occasion, I too would be given a treat. The Stable Boy, Thomas, would take me for a ride across the hills. We would spend hours, sometimes days, wandering amongst the wildflowers, their bright hues a striking contrast to the deep green of the hillsides, with the salty scent of the sea whispering tales in the wind. I would often think about the boundless freedom these journeys gave me, how the hills became my playground and the wind became my confidante. It's during these rides that I feel closest to nature, closest to myself, a true reflection of the magnificent beast that I am.
You know, I love the rhythm of a good ride, the feeling of the earth beneath my hooves, the wind whispering in my mane, the feel of Thomas' hand guiding me along, the perfect blend of power and grace, freedom and control, a feeling like nothing else.
Looking to the Future:
The years continue to roll by, each one filled with the magic of a new dawn and the promise of another season's harvest. The men and women of my village remain vigilant, their dedication to the land and to their animal companions a true testament to the strength and resilience of human nature.
But there are things changing, little shifts, like whispers in the wind, things I can't quite place my hoof on, but feel in my heart. The whispers say things are shifting - our world, the world of horses, is about to be touched by an age of advancements and innovation.
Whether it is good or bad, I cannot say for certain. I, for one, trust in the resilience of our spirit, the unwavering strength of the bond we share with those we work alongside.
But this is a tale for another time.
Stay safe, EquiWorld, and keep your hooves on the ground, my friends. Remember the simple things: the earth beneath your hooves, the wind in your mane, the magic of a good ride. And keep those memories alive - they are the very heart and soul of who we are. Until next time...
Emma, Hayfield Draught Mare
