[Whereas the Dog who stalks just ahead of him has only one thing on his mind, no queries or concerns, no reservations. Already it's rising in him, the shake and shiver that passes through his Spine, the panting sound inside his head that pushes him on towards violence. All he thinks of is how each one of them will die, the feel of their bodies breaking, splitting open beneath his waiting palms. Quick and efficient, or brutal and raw? These are his only questions.
As such, he gives a perfunctory nod towards his Handler, turns once again in the direction of the scent, moves a few paces forward. They should be able to sneak up on them easily enough, both of them made for something more than ordinary combat, weapons designed for efficiency, for bringing about certain death.
For the moment though--]
I anticipate around, eight, based on scent alone. But it's a hard thing to judge at this distance.
no subject
As such, he gives a perfunctory nod towards his Handler, turns once again in the direction of the scent, moves a few paces forward. They should be able to sneak up on them easily enough, both of them made for something more than ordinary combat, weapons designed for efficiency, for bringing about certain death.
For the moment though--]
I anticipate around, eight, based on scent alone. But it's a hard thing to judge at this distance.