Torus understood the nature of fear. The misconception of safety, based on the incorrect assumption that money and numbers would accompany the journey alongside the throng that sacked Greenest.  Such insecurity was not endorsed; these thoughts of their immediate patrol from the citadel, investigating with backward glances an awkward fire, were not prime upon the sell swords' thoughts.

They honestly believed they had won.

The bear appeared appeased, to those outside his double layered fur, as if struck by a holiday mood in summery weather. This was very far from the truth, as the brown monstrosity was actually judging the distance, between his claws and the cowardice, en masse. The carriage of people had already traversed a great gap, to which he did not want to risk the kobolds potentially gathering wherewithal and stratagems to flank his dashing. 

After a few moments of surveying the land, the bronzed omnivore, on all fours, corralled his maw, upside down over their captive, as Kyra, Parum, and Orchid continued their questions. His face hovered above the sniveling prisoner, similar to a toothless great-grandmother over a month-old baby, dangling height and reality like a carrot on a string. Nostrils flared, inhaling the man's putrid sweat effervescing from the dread and panic erupting from overproducing eccrine glands. Each heart beat navigated an erratic rhythm over one-hundred twenty instances in a minute, compared to the auburn beast’s standard forty. In hibernation, the sailor knew that such a patient circadian rhythm can throb a mere eight pulses per sixty seconds, realizing that the natural endurance of this form, even through the twilight of a winter harvests a spring of life and answers.

A crow seemed to plummet quickly from the heavens onto the pirate’s head as the tanned quadruped licked its furry vermillion border, with his lengthy glossal muscle, demonstrating the wide extent of a potential premeditated bite. 

Both Judgment and the druid were ravenous. 

For truth.