Panther Park white winter hymnal

Where were they headed? If Marlowe were being completely honest, it was not a predetermined path. The harem traveled upon his whim and ambitions and they were all too happy to do so. He directed them across massive tracts on lands at the behest of his nose, following vegetal, earthly scents to their next rendezvous site. The brute did not travel blindly and operated keenly on balanced reservoirs of fortitude, pugnacity and caution. He would never endanger his wives and his children in the name of food and he always ensured an identifiable escape route was within reach. He could easily fight predators, of course, but the most survivable option was to flee [as wolves and other fanged creature were much to dextrous of assailants to be flustered for long]. 

The winter had very quickly become harsh. This winds whipped and blew mercilessly, pushing up large piles of snow and making the land incredibly inhospitible. It was hard for the herd of lumbering animals to move, see, hear, taste and smell - even Marlowe had a difficult time making sense of left and right at times like this. The ice numbed all their outward facing senses... and even some inward senses. Marlowe had to steel his thoughts and emotions... for if he felt the brunt force of trauma every time the cold felled another one of his own, his heart would surely burst. So numbed felt the hulking brute, that he strode away from his harem for a moment’s solitude. He rarely experienced true silence and he relished it, as his sense of commitment would soon drive him back to lead his bubbling faction of women and children. He drank in the iced winter air, the moisture of which rode heavy upon his exhale and evaporated, smoke-like, back into the gentle breeze. This moment's reprieve he would allow himself; for he would leave his harem for no longer than a few minutes.