Instead, she settled for targeting the clusters of Hookwolf’s troops. ‘Fenrir’s Chosen’.
Oh right, the mundane foot soldiers. I kinda forgot they were there.
Each of the thugs had white face-paint extending from forehead to cheekbone to chin, in a crude approximation of a wolf’s face. She began dropping them at a steady rate, aiming for the biggest, the most aggressive and the ones who looked like they were in charge of lesser troops, the captains.
Sounds like good prioritization.
As the troops began falling, Hookwolf’s forces became unsettled, hesitating to advance.
Nice.
Hookwolf reared up on two legs, pointing and howling orders, likely demanding they attack. His words were incomprehensible from the rooftop where Shadow Stalker crouched, but the tone left no mistake that he was threatening them to drive them back into the fight.
Sounds like something he’d do, yeah.
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