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"Indeed, why wouldn't she love us..." — Dorian himself would have preferred a dead non-human to a living one, since the latter, driven by simple animal instincts, would never forget or forgive such treatment. "I hope the chain is sturdy — she won't be able to bite through it with that terrible cannon in her teeth..."
Shivering slightly, the unlucky kidnapper looked around the trophy main hall with curiosity tinged with slightly deflated arrogance. "..Yes, this is roughly how I pictured it. But in reality it's, of course, quite different from what's in my head."
In Khataraita's head, thoughts had already run through a hundred times that he had made a mistake by agreeing to come here, but it was too late to back out, and he barely showed his nervousness — though he was very taciturn.
While the "tourists" were getting acquainted with the interior, more and more new faces began to trickle inside, one of whom turned out to be the leader of the community himself. He had a rather unremarkable appearance, so picking him out in a crowd of strangers wasn't all that easy — the only thing that gave him away was how the others behaved toward him: it was a mixture of respect and fear. For example, when the gaze of his single eye landed on someone, that person's gaze dropped to the floor. Massaging his broken nose, he sat down in one of the armchairs, while the other community members took their places along the sides and along both walls of the hall, but no one stood behind him. The hat and the two recruits remained in the center.