Thick padded soles crush the soft rubble around the scattered area. They follow the sloppy indents the men of his army made, thundered down around the smaller and more rushed pattern of prints. Small bits of blood hung and coated bits of glass in the indents, the scent wafered into his nose. His ears caught onto sound not to far.
“...so I might not be the most helpful lookout. Oh hey a chair!”
He marched over, the scent growing stronger yet mixed with some foreign one that puzzled him. His tail shifted to the steps, powerfully shoving aside the crumbling walls. He looked down at the stranger then to his target. He didn’t smile, but there was pride and mockery in his voice.
He picked up the unconscious boy and glanced to the stranger in question, teeth slightly bared. “Red Army scout no less. This is his territory... Don’t waste your life.”
