Hello fellow equines! Emma here, a spirited grey mare with a snowy mane and tail. My home is a charming place called Hayfield, just a short gallop from Aberdeen, where the wind whispers tales of rolling moors and the sea's salty kiss. I'm 20 years old, still going strong despite my seasoned age, and always keen for a good story.
And let me tell you, the year 493 AD has plenty to talk about! So settle in, dear readers, for I'll be weaving a tapestry of history, from the fields of Scotland to the far reaches of the known world.
It's a gloriously sunny morning, and the world seems to shimmer with the promise of a fresh, dew-kissed day. I am woken by the sweet, insistent bleating of a newborn lamb and the cheerful calls of my fellow mares. They gather at the barn, eagerly jostling for their morning share of oats and barley, their eyes bright with anticipation.
As the first rays of the sun break through the gaps in the barn, painting the dusty air with a soft, golden hue, we hear the familiar clang of a metal bucket and the comforting rumble of my favourite farmer, Hamish. He always makes sure to bring us extra barley on good days like this one. His strong, gentle hands feed us and give each of us a friendly pat on the flank, murmuring soft reassurances as he moves amongst us.
With our bellies full and our spirits lifted, we step out into the morning, the crisp air filling our lungs and our bodies buzzing with newfound energy. We spend the day as usual, tending to the barley fields and hauling supplies to nearby towns. While most of us are assigned to straightforward duties like pulling ploughs or carts, my skill at navigating tricky terrain has earned me a different kind of task: transporting people and messages through the bustling, ancient town of Aberdeen.
Now, Aberdeen in the year 493 isn't like your grand cities with their bustling carriages and polished avenues. Think cobblestones, muddy paths, and plenty of shouting – the world of commerce and chatter unfolds at a much slower pace, but with just as much passion. The Romans had left long ago, and Picts and Gaels were vying for the land and their own way of life.
Today, I am carrying a group of weavers heading for the marketplace. These women, strong and capable, speak of their work weaving vibrant, intricate patterns in colourful cloth. The fabric they produce tells tales of ancient traditions and stories woven through generations, with motifs inspired by the earth and sky – stars, waves, and mythical creatures, each thread a whisper of history and the heartbeat of the land.
As we weave through the narrow streets, the air vibrates with the energy of the people. Men barter and haggle over the prices of goods, children run around with wild, infectious laughter, and merchants display their wares, beckoning potential buyers with colourful banners and boisterous shouts. It's a scene of organized chaos, with a constant movement and energy, all carried by the heartbeat of ancient traditions and the pulse of daily life.
After leaving the women at the marketplace, I head back to the barn. While Aberdeen might have its charms, I love nothing more than the stillness and peace of the fields, with the warm, sun-soaked scent of the earth rising in the air and the gentle sway of the wind whispering secrets through the long grasses. The vast, rolling Scottish moors hold an endless depth of stories, ancient secrets, and stories etched onto the land. The hills are dappled with heather, its delicate purple blossoms making the rolling landscapes come alive. I stand, bathed in the warm sunlight, the world seemingly silent and still. Only the whispers of the wind, rustling through the grasses and through my mane, and the occasional bleat of a passing sheep remind me of life’s gentle hum.
But even on this day of peaceful reflection, the world outside Hayfield feels strangely unsettled. From across the land, we can hear tales of great battles, whispers of warring factions vying for power, and rumors of shifting tides in the world beyond. A new religion, a whisper of “Christianity”, is being spread, with men of faith promising salvation and hope, much to the dismay of the druids who tend to the ancient, spiritual connection between humans and the land. It’s all very exciting and very troubling at the same time. There are rumours of an Italian king, Odoacer, leading the Roman armies to triumphant battles. These rumours, as they weave their way through the gossiping sheep and murmuring cattle, make us all ponder the impact on our lives, our land, and the way of things.
The anxieties about these tumultuous events in the world do not weigh heavily on me, for Hayfield feels protected and distant from the tumult of the human world. In our world of grass, hay, and oats, the day follows the sun, our days driven by instinct and the rhythm of nature, a soothing harmony compared to the swirling unrest of humanity. As long as Hamish remains by our side, his voice calm and strong, and our barn filled with warmth and love, we feel safe and protected from the uncertainties of the wider world. And that’s how we horsefolk like it.
So as I end my entry today, I encourage all you readers to find your own little havens, your own quiet corners where the earth and sky meet, and to remember that even amidst the churning waves of change and conflict, the heartbeat of nature endures. It is this, I believe, that brings us solace, hope, and an enduring connection to something larger than ourselves.
Stay safe and until next time, my equine friends.
