What connects the screaming nomad of the steppe and your mother on Cheltenham Ladies Day? 
 
Unless your mother has a penchant for pillaging Eurasian cities (a reasonable characterisation of the desolation on Via Montenapoleone the last time mine was in Milan) the answer is horses. No longer do we need horses for travel or for war, but such magnificence and such grace of movement inspires far deeper emotions than those of necessity. For when can man feel free if not on horseback, riding through the wind-whipped fields? 
 
Perhaps you wish to express your gratitude for an invitation to the races; perhaps your friend is swift and spritely; perhaps they have an odd name or a gambling addiction: write them a letter.