Viktor froze for a moment upon coming up to the clearing. The sudden, striking ocean of crimson that stretched out before the group, littered with the corpses of the loggers, was more than a little surprising to see. His jaw, for a few moments, went agape as if he meant to say something, but no words came. What was it, exactly, that he could even say in a situation like this? A sympathetic apology for the losses seemed terribly underwhelming, and questioning who or what had done it seemed fruitless. Words escaped him, and the intention to form them faded as a few of the group's members went on to salvage belongings from the dead without skipping a beat. His jaw tensed as he forced it closed again, furrowing his brow as he turned to look away. He understood the importance of taking what you could get. Hell, he'd done it plenty in the past. Take someone down, immediately pick up their weapon to turn on their comrades. It was second nature to an experienced wanderer. But the state of the dead was troubling. They seemed shredded, but not scavenged off of. He doubted any animal had done this.<br/><br/>Finally, he managed to speak. It was nothing of great importance. A quiet, gloomy curse. "Damn," he mumbled, unconsciously moving his hand towards the holster on his leg. Whatever had done this to the group couldn't have been too far off. Not around anymore, at least, but he didn't trust these woods as far as he could throw a full-grown redwood after this morning. He wanted out, as soon as it was possible. Viktor refrained from entering the bloody field, as did the men at his back. An overall sense of melancholic discontent radiated from the hunters, who moved towards the path proper at a wordless order. Viktor merely raised a hand to direct them, and turned to leave himself as Liliana left the clearing.<br/><br/>He stopped, however, when Inga yelled. His hand left the holster, and when he saw her tears, he frowned. Turning more towards her, he lowered himself to one knee, putting him at a slightly more event height with her. "Hey, hey. It's gonna be alright," He said in a very considerate tone. His words were soft, and while he was unsure exactly how "alright" things would truly be, he was determined to get the survivors to a place of safety. "But we need to go. Once we get somewhere else, it'll be quiet. But whatever did all this, it might still be hanging around. We should try to find somewhere safer." He hesitated, not wanting to sound pressuring, but at the same time hoping to convince Inga of the importance of moving.<br/><br/>For once, he cursed his lack of skill when dealing with children. He was no therapist, that was obvious.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Moving swiftly, but carefully through the trees, Stefan kept up with the others in his group well enough. His mask's somewhat limited range of vision was unfortunate, but the ground was mercifully empty ahead of them. He turned his head to Mikhail for half a moment, and between the breaths he took while dashing away from the beast, he answered. "That would be nice," He answered, glancing back to see if the dog-like monstrosity had tailed them. Just as he had, the grenade tossed by one of the guards detonated, and a loud snarling roar of pain broke through the still and quiet air. Stefan doubted the beast had died. Demons were terribly resilient, Hounds included. At most, he expected the shrapnel and  kinetic force of the grenade would convince it to run away, not end its life.<br/><br/>"Where did you come from?" Stefan asked, voice sounding terribly casual for someone who was running from a beast that may as well have clambered its way out of hell itself. No reason to worry the poor newcomer, he thought. He gave Mikhail another look-over, looking for any patches or otherwise signifying markings on his clothes, but found none. He certainly wasn't one of the Stalkers, that much was for damn sure. The mutant was a fresh face, and in such an organized group, everyone pretty much knew each other.