The Grey...

I went to the Royal Armouries in Leeds with Adam at New Year. He was looking up information for his history dissertation, and I was running around pointing at fake horses in full-replica costume.
The Armouries is awesome. After looking around the exhibits (something like four enormous floors of them) you can buy working replicas of everything, from Lee Enfield Rifles, to Equine Armour. It's a roleplayer's dream come true.
Anyway. Enough with the digression. I found four horses in varying armour- from early medieval to renaissance, but each of them looked a little wrong. Their heads were to short, and they had tapir noses and mule ears. Don't even get me started on the conformation below the knee. That was all wrong. But they were impressive in sheer terms of size and armour. I wandered off into an ajoining room, and came face to face with this.
It reminded me of Whistlejacket by George Stubbs, the way it twisted as it reared. I stood under its airborne front hooves, and gaped in silence. If this came towards you on the battlefield, you'd lie right down and die out of courtesy.
I don't know what it was. Maybe it was the fact I was all alone in a silent, dimly lit room. Maybe it was the shadows the Grey cast as it reared up against the background. Maybe I shouldn't have stood right under its hooves, but I could feel its eyes on me, and I started to cry.
I looked around, and there was still nobody, so I reached over the roping, and completely ignored the "DO NOT TOUCH" sign to lay a hand on the underside of its (worryingly real horsehair) chest.
For some bizarre reason, I just wanted to tell the Grey that it was all ok.
I mean, how long had it been there, poised up on its back legs, having pikes jabbed at it, never being able to move?