The Leader struck his face with a clawed slap, then grabbed him by the head and slammed him through a root, shattering the heavy thing and dragging his body through the mud.
Percival felt so light in its hand. So light that the Draconian Leader couldn't even feel the weight of its own hand.
'...'
"Ngyaaahhh!!!"
That was because its hand—the one it'd been using to drag Percival through the mud and root-covered earth—had been sliced right off.
Suddenly, the wolf-haired Swordsman leaped right in front of the Leader's face. It let out another shriek, this one of terror rather than pain.
Holding its wounded arm, it turned on its heel and began to run away.
Click-CLACK! Click-CLACK! It cried, a subsonic pulse that vibrated in Percival's teeth.
It was calling for help.
From behind roots and under the mud, more Stalkers arrived.
Some dropped from above, others from the barks of the trees. They surrounded him, giving the pack leader time to escape.
