Caedos was far too enraged to acknowledge the hunters by fighting them directly. He knew his people were being torn from their homes and taken captive to be war steeds, he had lived through it, but the knowledge was nothing like the gritty reality.
By the time he could contain his rage, the building was already up in flames, the once captive Hounds gathered in the narrow street, their gazes holding a well of words.
Caedos turned his attention on them, trying to focus on the limiters around their necks and not their jutting bones or the varying injuries they sported. He approached the nearest Hellhound next to him and then paused, looking around.
If someone more competent than the hunters in the now-burning building made an appearance, it would be just him against them. He would rather not expose the beaten-down Hellhounds to that.
