"No!" Pale Moon shouted using magic to reinforce his voice. He was filed with authority now. Both hands glowed blue. A screen of magic surrounded Corfid and his men, entrapping them, blue like stained glass. "If I give you the boulder hound, you'll leave?" He squeaked, unable to even look at that man.
"Yup," the man said.
"Go to him," the priest commanded. The boulder hound looked at him uncertainly, as though doubting his order. And then he padded forward a swagger in his step, not the slightest hint of fear.
"Good dog," the swordsman reached out to pet him. The dog opened its mouth wide, about to swallow his whole arm whole. "Sit."
When that command came, the dog - that same colossal hound that Wyndon had so feared, suddenly sat - seeing the same power that Pale Moon had seen. It whimpered, lowering its head to avoid looking that man in the eye. It allowed him to pet him.
"…Your fur feels gross," the man said, "we'll have to get you washed before we take you to market." He turned to his comrade. "Have a feel, Pash," he said. His comrade was less certain, but he reached out with his hand and ran his fingers through his fur.
"Leave," Pale Moon begged, he could stand it no longer. Behind his magic barrier, Corfid was screaming his lungs out, but they could not hear a single word of what he had to say.
"Okay, but tone down the shadiness, would you? No getting dogs that you can't afford and feeding kids to them. That isn't cool, you know? You'll end up becoming a monster," the man said. Then he turned on his heel and walked right out of the Stone Tree. His apprentice and his new dog followed behind him.
Wyndon watched his back as he went. He clenched his fist, silently thanking his unnamed hero.