He grit his teeth as another ox ran past, uncomfortably close. Nearer and near they kept coming. There was too much noise as well. Far too much to be heard. None of his subordinates were on hand to assist him in his bestowment of order, and it seemed likely that none of them would arrive.
Going by his earlier conclusion that this was some sort of natural disaster, he felt, that perhaps it would be cleaner to weather the storm. To flee somewhere – anywhere outside the perimeter of camp – and regroup and calculate the damage in the morning, just as a village must when a tsunami came hurtling towards them. It was not an easy choice to make, and it was certainly one that caused a deal of bitterness, and yet it was the only one available to him. It would be too much to bear to die naked at the hands – or hooves – of oxen.