A group of strange horses could be seen on the hills, watching SkyHerd intently.
"What do you think, Lorcan?" asked the front horse, a big gray draft stallion.
"SkyHerd is large, Dax. Many mares, but too many stallions for it's own good," answered the horse beside him, a large, white, muscular Dartmoor pony.
"You're right. Flip is a weak stallion anyway. See those two Friesians, the Gypsy Vanners, and Clydesdales, and that Shire horse there? Those ones are big. They'll be difficult. Some of those mares are cute..." Dax mused. One of the mares behind him grunted.
"That's saying a lot about us," the stout brown Chincoteague mare grumbled.
"Be quiet, Eliza," Dax said sharply. "You're the ugliest female I've ever met."
"I don't have to stay with you," she ventured cautiously. "I could run."
"Yes, and then you'd be caught and beaten thoroughly until you wish you'd never even thought of it." Dax gave her a dangerous look.
"We should go," Lorcan warned, shifting his hooves.
"I want to watch them a little longer," Dax replied sharply, his eyes fixed on the herd. He watched as one of the old mares ran haphazardly back and forth from the willow tree to the tall fields. He squinted, thinking her daft. "The mares are wounded," he said finally to Lorcan. "And it's not a predator. Horses have been attacking SkyHerd." Dax smiled devilishly and gave the motion for the patrol party to move on. "Let's go," he whispered to Lorcan. "But we'll be back. And when we get back..." Here he let out an evil chuckle. "When we get back, all of WindHerd will be on our side."