Continuing his work at their ramshackle stable, the outlander paid his dues in observation about the way the camp seemed to regulate and operate among the enemy; the short answer was, they didn't. It was not that they lacked soldiers or guards, rather than they lacked any sense of order, discipline or standard. In a way, as his mind wandered from the mindlessness of the work, not tethered down by it, it was clear to him the dragon-cult's following was... actually quite pathetic in number. Several times over he had witnessed that the majority of these "cultists" were mercenaries and what followers the dragon had were, other than the half-dragon, little more than peasants playing follower in a set of robes they were tossed.

It was no wonder Greenest failed to fend them off, that their numbers and their bought sellswords did all the work under the shadow of a dragon. Were it not for any one of those things, they probably could not have even assailed even a small farming town out by itself. This led to the wondering of the man, as he calmly moved one of the horses aside to get between them, if he could enact a simple but effective effort in eliminating them in time to come.

They needed to scrounge, to eat, clearly picking at the land as they went earlier today he discovered, so it made them vulnerable and little more than prey. After all men and these minute scaly-things were not particularly observant, neither were they elusive. Following them at a great distance and keeping watch of them when they gathered their resources would make for an opportune time to attack, for not only the back being turned, but most of their weapons being not quite ready. It would be no trouble at all to maul and mangle them, assuming they even had the chance to limp home, they might well die of their injuries there or even before it; hooked, tearing claws had a tendency to rasp open horrific wounds that did not stitch themselves quite right, if ever at all.

Pressuring them and hounding them this way would bleed their numbers yes, but their morale? How many men would be so brave as to dare out on ventures as simple as gathering food or water, let alone walking on patrol in a small band at night? Eventually they would send more or better, but just as they sought to use their draconic beast as a weapon of fear, the huntsman himself could do much the same.

It was thoughts as these that passed the time of work, awaiting any clear signal or opportunity to escape. Albeit not alone - they came this far and it needed to be worth it.

[@Hekazu][@Ryonara][@Lucius Cypher][@Gordian Nought][@Irredeemable]