Hello everyone! It's Emma here, a grey draught mare with a snowy mane and tail, living my best life in Hayfield, near Aberdeen. The year is 0654, and I’ve decided to share my story and hopefully spark your curiosity about what it was like to be a horse in these times.
Let's rewind the clock to a time when people lived in a very different way. This land was covered in ancient forests and marshlands. Think of rolling green hills, with fields filled with wild oats and wild thyme - not a single fence in sight! As a horse, it’s always a joy to be part of this natural world.
I spend most of my days pulling a wooden cart laden with oats and barley to the mill at the edge of the village. It’s hard work, but I love it. The villagers, particularly the children, are always waving and giving us cheery greetings. There's a wonderful sense of community, a togetherness that we modern horses could only dream of.
The mill is a hive of activity. Men with burly arms expertly wield heavy pestles, grinding grain into flour. I can practically smell the warm aroma of freshly baked bread carried on the wind. This delicious scent reminds me of my human companions who look after me. They call me Emma, but the villagers also refer to me as the "Grey Goddess," as they admire my strength and resilience. I don't know why, as I just do what I do, pulling my weight and making my way through this bustling world.
Speaking of work, life here can be demanding for a draught mare, especially around the time of harvest. Our farmer, Duncan, a strong but gentle soul with twinkling eyes, would rely heavily on me to plow his fields. He’d even allow me to eat the tastiest bits of grass growing by the field’s edge, right after the crops were gathered. The feeling of soft soil beneath my hooves and the gentle tug of the plowshare was something I cherished. The other horses, some big, strong stallions with glistening coats and proud faces, often told tales of their grand exploits in battles far, far away.
I remember one hot summer day when Duncan decided to take me to the village market, laden with baskets full of fresh vegetables. I can’t tell you how much I love this little bustling market - there is something magical about the throngs of people going about their lives, the scent of roasted meats and cheeses filling the air, and of course the vibrant displays of fresh vegetables and fruit. There were many stalls where I saw horses used to pull large wagons and coaches. I even met a very elegant pony, carrying a young girl and a beautiful silver goblet in a cart adorned with lace. It looked so exciting. I knew my place was on the farm, a place where I’d be cherished and needed for the well-being of our community.
My nights are a symphony of chirping crickets and the gentle lull of the breeze whispering through the willow trees. I can't deny my deep yearning for adventure, but the nights are also about the sweet companionship of my fellow horses in the stable. The old mare, Maggie, with her long flowing mane of grey, would tell us tales of a time before horses were harnessed to carriages and carts. She recounted stories of horse riders traversing the rugged landscapes, delivering vital messages and bringing the world together, before paved roads or railways, just relying on their instinct and incredible courage. It’s humbling to listen to such tales of how essential our ancestors were to our human friends, even thousands of years before my own existence!
Maggie even talked of battles in faraway lands - a place they called Rome - where armies would clash on the vast plains. They even recounted tales of armoured knights galloping into battle.
Of course, these stories always left me yearning for adventure - for something beyond the steady rhythm of our farm life.
However, I’ve always been content in Hayfield, happy to contribute to the community. This way of life, despite its occasional challenges, offers a profound sense of connection.
Recently, our farmer mentioned how some adventurous merchants from the south were starting to use "carriages," and that horses had started to become indispensable to traders as they hauled goods far and wide. Some, they say, were even used by soldiers, which did remind me of Maggie’s stories of battles. It's fascinating to think of this world where I am more than just a field-ploughing farm horse. It gives me a strange thrill of purpose knowing that there is more out there, beyond these green fields.
Every evening, I stand beside Maggie as we gaze at the setting sun, casting long shadows over our grazing field. There's a gentle contentment that fills my heart, knowing that our purpose, our journey, continues in a quiet, timeless manner. The future is unknown, as the future always is, but my hooves will continue to pound the earth, helping my humans build their world and sharing our connection to each other, each day as we greet a new sunrise together.
This is my life, the story of a grey draught mare, living and thriving in 0654. Thank you for taking a peek into our world! If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask.
Stay tuned for more stories from your fellow equine friends here at EquiWorld!
