The square was an offensive house. Within minutes, twenty members of the Feral Convoy were nothing but broken husks in the dust. The husbands were moving like slaughterhouse machinery, their sanity fraying with every second she was missing.
Damien was about to lunge for a cowering Jackal, not the one who took her, but a scout, when a massive, heavy hand slammed onto his shoulder.
"Enough!" Voss roared. The wolf beastman, a living tank with amber eyes that glowed like forge fires, stood in the centre of the madness. His Weapon Manifestation flickered, a massive iron shield appearing in his hand to block a stray bolt of energy. He looked at Damien, then at Exile, who was currently trying to crush a stone building just because he thought she might be behind it.
"Look at yourselves!" Voss's voice carried the weight of a true Alpha. "You're losing the trail because you're too busy painting the town red! If she's gone, we need to move, not mourn!"
