Heron Lake Plateau a treason bestowed to the crowd

The great dark beast uttered something in nonsense. At least, Gittarackur could not make sense of the mutterings. He had extraordinarily little interest in picking up another language regardless. Whether it was evident or not, the stormy cryptid merely batted his eyes at the dark stranger until he spoke in an accented common tongue.
 
“Thinking isn’t knowing, darling,” the ghoul retorted with a devilish purr and a wild sneer that crinkled the bridge of his long muzzle. He was unaware of the pale fiend that stalked nearby, but it would have done little to concern him. Gittarackur was not keen on being mixed up in scenarios where he wouldn’t come out on top, and he knew better than to trifle with a bonded duo. While the pale one hid and waited, Gittarackur simply watched the inky one with far too much interest.
 
Taking a few steps toward the brutish green-eyed hound, Gittarackur lifted his crown upward and eyed the stranger, this time with a deductive purpose. He was searching for visible weakness in the form of the rough-lipped shadow.
 
“How about I prove it to you?”