The Flaxen Chestnut mare watching FireHerd was still on the hill above their Main Grounds, watching them. She surveyed with the eye of an eagle. It was for this reason that her name was Browneagle. She saw a mare dying while foaling; a pair of horses mating while an envious stallion lurked in ambush behind them; two stallions dueling; four half-grown colts killing each other. The mare grinned. Fireherd was killing each other: they would be desperate for a leader and a working system. That system: Communism. Or, since Browneagle couldn't have known what Communism was, something very similar.