Under the guidance of Arthur Vanderbilt, the group drove a Land Rover Defender along a road cleared clean by a snowplow, slowly heading toward the top of the mountain ridge.
Outside the window lay the extreme winter scenery of Wyoming.
Thick, dry, fluffy powder snow covered the earth and the expanse of Douglas fir forests. Every tree branch was wrapped evenly in snow, as if a sugar-frosted artwork.
The entire world turned into a simple yet magnificent white oil painting, and the air felt so pure, like it had been filtered; every breath carried the scent of ice and pine.
Inside the vehicle, an advanced hidden floor heating system precisely maintained the temperature at a pleasant twenty-five degrees.
Two recently awoken little ones, dressed in soft cashmere jumpsuits, excitedly pressed themselves against the car window.
Their chubby little hands curiously observed as they left tiny hand prints on the cold car glass, surrounded quickly by mist.
