“Their bedrolls untouched, they sat by the fire and listened to the horses grumble and snore, the mule’s occasional flatulence loud in the too-quiet night air, as the moon rose overhead and passed through the sky, the stars faded, and the first hint of pale red appeared in the east, heralding the return of day.”
Because you can be as pretty as you like with the language, but the mule is still going to fart.