To say he was frustrated was a little bit of an understatement. He knew that his crew didn't have to step in for him, as he could have taken care of himself from the very beginning. After dealing with the organization, he was used to working solo for several years unless they needed him on a job. He didn't play well with others, and it wasn't his fault if they got in the way when he was working or trying to get something at least productive done instead of sitting around and wasting away like these creatures were. But what should he expect? They were just animals, after all, nothing more and nothing less. Did that mean he considered himself to be superior when it came to coming up with plans and thinking? Yes. But they were more knowledgeable about this world, but he wasn't about to ask them for directions or how to work something either. If anything, he would just wait for Goldenboy to tell him how to do something because the caracal was great when it came to learning about information. He was stubborn in that regard, and if he had a computer or a laptop, he would be able to find information of where he was quite easily. He knew that he was still on Earth considering that humans did exist here. He had yet to see any of them, but there were buildings and structures that existed that showed that they did live here and that there may be a chance for him to turn back to being a human. He knew that he was to blame for the death of the crew and now that they were all locked in the bodies of different animals here and there. He was surprised none of them had taken pot shots at him, except for Mogar who had attacked him without realizing who he was in the beginning.

He probably deserved the wounds that he had gotten from the canine though, even if the guy was a lot smaller than he was. Everything was going to shit and he could feel it. There was something going on inside of his head that he didn't quite understand and had only talked to Rimmy shortly about what he was going through. He wasn't drinking himself silly, but sleep deprivation was probably going to kill him if he didn't get any decent sleep soon. The hallucinations were probably going to kill him before anything else happened honestly. The Hellhound wasn't near the canyon like one thought he would be. He needed to distance himself before he went on a killing spree and upset the rest of the crew. He wanted to kill something, but he didn't feel like trekking out into the middle of the nowhere trying to find something to do. So, instead, he went into the bordering trees that were marked as the border, not that he would know it thanks to the lack of the ability to acquire scents around him. Vagabond's body language just showed how pissed he really was, the fur on the back of his neck and his shoulders were squared looking for a fight.

The Hellhound just wanted to rip something apart, but right now a murder break would be a good idea. He stopped where he was walking and was looking at a tree in front of him. His vivid blue eyes just expressing nothing but malice behind them. Several of his throwing knives began to unsheathe themselves from the sash on his neck, and the skull wearing Hellhound. Around four of them were hovering around his head almost like a halo of knives. He concentrated as he looked at the thickest part of the tree, it was strange not being able to use his hands or anything else while he was just throwing knives. One shot out from the group of four and impaled itself into the wood that was there. Not good enough. He shot enough one off, and watched it impale itself to the side of the first one, but the blade went in deeper this time. Frustrated with still thinking that it wasn't enough, the Hellhound threw the third one, putting the maximum amount of speed on the throwing knife, and of course, as soon as it made contact with the tree, it shattered. Well, that was just great. He sank his claws into the dirt as he felt like complete shit.