Hello, fellow equines! Emma here, a sturdy grey draught mare with a mane and tail like spun silver, reporting from Hayfield, just outside the bustling city of Aberdeen in the Kingdom of the Picts.
As I nibble on my favourite patch of sweet clover, bathed in the morning sunshine, I can’t help but think how much things have changed for our kind since the arrival of those fiery, red-headed folk from across the sea. They call themselves Vikings, and while I won’t lie, some of them are as bold as a hawk in the sky, there’s an undeniable strength in them.
Today is a beautiful day, crisp and clean with a hint of autumn in the air. The ground is damp after the recent rains, perfect for grazing. My stablemate, a black stallion named Angus, snorts and shakes his mane, impatient to get on with the day’s work. Our work isn’t particularly strenuous - we’re fortunate to be part of a small farmer’s family who value us, not just for our strength, but our gentle nature too. We spend our days pulling the plough across the fields, hauling in the hay and pulling the family cart to market.
But life hasn't always been this peaceful.
Back in my foalhood, life was simpler. I remember when we lived further north, amongst the rugged mountains of the Highlands, the land belonging to my family, where generations of my kin had lived before us. The menfolk then relied heavily on us. We were used to haul lumber, gather wood for fires and to pull sleds through the snow in the colder months.
My mother told tales of her grandmother, a strong, sturdy mare who pulled the cart carrying warriors into battle, a time when war seemed more constant. Our kind were a valued part of the community, providing transportation, pulling weapons, even carrying warriors into battle when required.
However, a shift came with the rise of the Picts. It was said their warriors fought fierce battles, using weapons of terrifying size and strength. Our riders would have to be strong and brave, our bodies toughened for the arduous task of transporting them into battle. Yet, as much as we loved our men, I couldn’t deny the inherent fear within me during the moments of battle. The clash of steel, the thunder of drums, the shrieks of men, and the chilling wails of the wounded... such moments etched their fear into our very being.
My mother would often tell me that there were some breeds who enjoyed the excitement of the battlefield, that there was something deeply rooted in their hearts that fuelled a desire to be involved in the thrill of the hunt, or the intensity of warfare. Thankfully, we were not bred that way. We were a strong but gentle stock, better suited to the slower pace of farm life.
Thankfully, times have changed since the reign of the Picts. We’re now part of a quieter era, thankfully devoid of the constant warfare of our ancestors.
The current King, Kenneth MacAlpin, seems to be uniting the kingdoms, ushering in a new age of peace. With his reign, our work has been relegated to the more peaceful pursuits of farm life. The fields still require our strength, the markets need the goods to be transported and families depend on our loyalty and endurance to see them through the harshest weather.
As the world evolves around us, I feel an overwhelming sense of calmness. Even the arrival of these Norsemen hasn’t caused much distress. They come for trade, a little plunder now and then, but generally they leave us alone, though some say the Pictish rulers worry about their future presence. I choose to see it as an opportunity, a chance for greater trade, wider travel, and perhaps even a glimpse of a world beyond Hayfield, a world beyond Aberdeen.
For now, I'm content.
There's an undeniable sense of connection I feel when I feel the warm sun on my back as I pull the cart loaded with crops. There’s a satisfaction when I see the appreciation in the farmer's eyes, or the excited gasps from the children who gather around me, eager to stroke my velvety grey nose.
As for our future, only time will tell.
But one thing remains constant: we horses, whether gentle giants or fiery war-steeds, will always be a vital part of life, an extension of the world, a bridge connecting communities and families across vast distances.
I'm sure many of you will have your own tales of the world as we see it. Be sure to leave a comment and let me know.
Until next time, keep your hooves on the ground and your hearts light!
Yours, Emma
PS: Remember, if you see a wild stallion, remember the stories of your ancestors. The wild ones often carry the spirits of freedom, strength, and unwavering independence. We domestic steeds might find comfort in the stable, but sometimes, just sometimes, you’ll see the wild one staring back at you in the mirror. Let those spirits guide you.
