COLETTE

My name is Colette, a mare born in a green meadow. Everything changed when the war broke out. They took me from my home to turn me into a war horse.

The first days were an ordeal. They crammed us into dark trains, where we stood for hours, without enough water or food. I was harnessed with heavy equipment, and I was taught not to react to explosions, screams, gunshots. But how could one get used to fear?

On the front, I understood the extent of the horror. The mud was omnipresent, sticky and thick, swallowing our hooves with each step. The bombardments shook the ground, making every movement uncertain. I was responsible for carrying cannons, ammunition, and sometimes the wounded. The soldiers were hungry, cold, and afraid. We shared this fear, them and I.

The nights were the worst. The starry sky was obscured by smoke and the flashes of gunfire. I stood, ears strained, waiting for a rest that never came. Sometimes a comrade—horse or man—would fall, struck by a bullet or exhausted by fatigue.

Many of my kind did not survive this war. I survived, but I bear the scars—not just on my body, but in my soul.

My story is the story of millions of other animals caught up in the horror of human conflict.