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Swarm had been on high alert but there had been no major incidents during the trek. A mountain lion had been spotted in the distance once but it would hardly attempt to tackle a herd so big and had quickly disappeared. The occasional argument had been dealt with swiftly (in one case someone had been singing a bit too much) and their pace had dropped to help those struggling with the altitude.
Food had become an issue. They couldn’t leave Swarm’s presence long enough to hunt properly, so they had foraged as they went, grateful for those few who had been clever enough to bring supplies.
On the sixth day, still travel-worn and sore despite a deep sleep, Swarm rose with the dawn after a very cold night and stepped out from the sheltering pines to watch the snow spiralling in playful flurries.
Her breath puffed out in plumes of white.
They were close to their destination. They would just need to push a little further.
After watching the snow for a time, Swarm turned back to wake the others. The sentries joined her in rousing the group and slowly but surely, with some grumbling and many yawns, they returned to the very familiar routine of walking.
“We’re getting close,” she assured the group.
The snow swirled and danced, ushering them forward.