malk scouts

I held up a hand, sharply. “Wait.”
Reports came in from the malks, through my banner. They were once again out ghosting through the haze. I tasted stagnant seawater on my tongue, there was so much of the scent in the air. Malks were not, on the whole, very bright—too much of their brain was devoted to bloodshed. But my scouts’ estimates were not optimistic, and in some cases almost fearful.
Grimalkin, I thought. I need an accurate assessment of enemy position and numbers.
The Elder malk’s reply came buzzing through my head in his creepy, creepy voice. They are legion. Between five and seven thousand. They march west through the park.

Battle Ground Chapter 25, Page 224