Horizon Ridge above the clouds of pompeii

Slowly and steadily they moved amongst the trees, the hooven beasts. Their bodies stepped forward without as much as a precautionary look and they often bumped into one another. Their heads were held low to the ground, drawing in the chilled scents of the earth and rooting around for any sort of vegetation. The bumping and the touching did not beget annoyance, but instead gave them a sense of comfort and eased their ragged herd mentality.

But not Marlowe.

He strode behind his harem, standing tall and ever vigilant. Nourishment was their job, but safety was his. His large, inky eyes [flamed with flecks of chestnut] drifted across the horizon, taking in all things at once. It was not difficult to notice abnormalities in the alabaster landscape, for anything darker than a eggshell stood out drastically. For this reason, Marlowe felt safe but also found himself spooked by simple rocks or saplings and would nip at the hocks of his harem in a mild panic. 

The scent of fresh water drew them forth, enticed by the indulgence of a long drink. The body of water in question was under a thin layer of ice and his harem stood at the frozen water’s edge, snorting and stamping their feet in protest of this hurdle. But this was an issue they would have to figure out themselves, for he was a king and they were akin to his serfdom. Most beloved, of course, but a serfdom still. As the does knocked their hooves against the ice, Marlowe stood towards the back in an illustrious stance, jutting his check out with an undeserved sense of ego.