"Ah," the hound nodded knowingly. He recognized the name and knew it was Alasucia who convinced Miroslav to run, to hide topside and seek shelter in a world he didn't understand. To hellhounds, being bred to that one would be an embarrassment indeed, much like his own pups probably felt were any still living. Malcoda understood the stigma that came with that shame. "Potom ste o nič lepší než ja."
Rising, he shifted away, heading back towards the edge of the clearing. Malcoda gave her his back, knowing it would be adding insult to injury. Turning slightly, he called over his shoulder, "Mám lepšie veci na prácu, ako zvyčajne svoje kostry." He flipped his tail, waiting. "Ak chcete, môžete za mnou, liečiť a žiť bojovať aj ďalší deň. Alebo sa svojej šance a nabudúce zabijem ťa."