At the head of the pack, as it were, Toru had rushed in to the crude hideout as the sounds of violence faded. His careless feet sent old cigarette butts flying left and right into the makeshift furniture (as well as anybody unlucky enough to be running behind him.) Only when the piercing gaze of the beast in the darkness met his own eyes did he stop.
"I-it's... what's going on? I thought there were gang fights here, not giant dogs!" The boy's body was wracked by a shudder of primeval terror; the prey's physical warning against approaching danger. Somehow, though, he managed to stand his ground long enough to see it stumble and fall. This was no hunter in its prime, that much was obvious. The beast was wounded.
All Toru could do was crouch to get a better look through the fence.