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Description
The unforgivable creak of leather on a horses back, the straps intelligently woven around his thick Romany head. His short feathered legs thrust his shoulders forward as the timber load edges it's way up a steep cloverleaf dale. He will never rest till the sun falls well below the dense horizon, and then tethered to overground roots his mind will idle wander into a blissful retreat.

While the cart sleeps the sword is drawn, the world where he has no control has changed from work to war. His uniform harness is substituted for heavy iron armour, a small horse mounted by a sixteen stone man, engaging in fearful noises and the flashes of steal that dance around him, Other horses flush and weave stealing glimpses of each other hoping for a familiar paddock friend, nostrils flare, nothing, nothing about this is familiar to him, but he doesn't spook his rider, it just wasn't in his breeding. The call for charge arrived as the crude hollar of the cavalry roared like the break of a storm, with a kick of the cold armoured heel his mount needn't only have asked, but he was out of questions, questions for which there were no answers, non that were logical to a horse. He gallops and gallops, through the cavalry, through smoke and sword, gunpowder and arms, he hadn't noticed his mount was no longer with him.

The war ended, but no one came for him, his herd became wild, their strong heavy build and feathered thick legs made it possible for them to survive, disconnected from their previous masters. He was free for a while, grazing at ease in merciless weather, but the cold didn't bother him. The larger, fancier horses were gone, the winter had taken them away. He closed his eyes, he didn't need his dreams any more, and gradually the nightmares faded away.

A noose flys out into his blind-spot, no quicker can he spook but it only tightens his fate. Man, has taken a hold on him again. He had forgotten how to fight long ago, what can he do but yield once more, at least this time something had changed.
Generations had passed, machines appeared and substituted the horses back, No longer would he have to pull the heavy loads at the mercy of a whip, auto-mobiles and air flight removed him from the battlefield.
The price on his head had fallen and soon he became a mount of recreation, his forgiving temperament gave him the job of teaching children, carrying weary riders around bridleways and pulling families in traps at country fairgrounds.
The common riding horse was born, The Cob.

Description
The unforgivable creak of leather on a horses back, the straps intelligently woven around his thick Romany head. His short feathered legs thrust his shoulders forward as the timber load edges it's way up a steep cloverleaf dale. He will never rest till the sun falls well below the dense horizon, and then tethered to overground roots his mind will idle wander into a blissful retreat.

While the cart sleeps the sword is drawn, the world where he has no control has changed from work to war. His uniform harness is substituted for heavy iron armour, a small horse mounted by a sixteen stone man, engaging in fearful noises and the flashes of steal that dance around him, Other horses flush and weave stealing glimpses of each other hoping for a familiar paddock friend, nostrils flare, nothing, nothing about this is familiar to him, but he doesn't spook his rider, it just wasn't in his breeding. The call for charge arrived as the crude hollar of the cavalry roared like the break of a storm, with a kick of the cold armoured heel his mount needn't only have asked, but he was out of questions, questions for which there were no answers, non that were logical to a horse. He gallops and gallops, through the cavalry, through smoke and sword, gunpowder and arms, he hadn't noticed his mount was no longer with him.

The war ended, but no one came for him, his herd became wild, their strong heavy build and feathered thick legs made it possible for them to survive, disconnected from their previous masters. He was free for a while, grazing at ease in merciless weather, but the cold didn't bother him. The larger, fancier horses were gone, the winter had taken them away. He closed his eyes, he didn't need his dreams any more, and gradually the nightmares faded away.

A noose flys out into his blind-spot, no quicker can he spook but it only tightens his fate. Man, has taken a hold on him again. He had forgotten how to fight long ago, what can he do but yield once more, at least this time something had changed.
Generations had passed, machines appeared and substituted the horses back, No longer would he have to pull the heavy loads at the mercy of a whip, auto-mobiles and air flight removed him from the battlefield.
The price on his head had fallen and soon he became a mount of recreation, his forgiving temperament gave him the job of teaching children, carrying weary riders around bridleways and pulling families in traps at country fairgrounds.
The common riding horse was born, The Cob.