Horses are not for war. Perhaps for the sabre-slash of the hunting-field, or a white-lathered dash into clay-thick farmyards, or the soft-silver slide of Imperial Reviews.
But not for the uphill slog as pack transport, the noise, mud, shell-sliver scream of beast panic as artillery-fire rains down.
Their soft quivering noses are too pure, too soft, too velvety-kind. Only Man deserves brute suffering.