The beasts wanted to attack.
Arion understood that before anyone moved.
It was in the way their bodies had arranged themselves around him, broad shoulders lowered and weight shifted forward, claws digging into damp earth as every head tracked Dax, Otto, Nero, and Hendrik. The animal nearest him had stopped looking like an overgrown dog asking for attention. Its lips had drawn back from its teeth, and the muscles beneath its corrupted hide tightened each time Otto shifted his stance.
They were waiting for permission.
The realization cut through some of the heaviness inside Arion's head.
His thoughts still moved as though they had to push through syrup, slow enough that he could feel every decision being formed before his body reluctantly considered following it, but one thing came with disturbing clarity.
If he let this continue, someone would get hurt.
Nero's hand remained beneath his coat.
Dax had moved slightly in front of Otto without appearing to do so.
