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The Pixies, when he saw them in their cages, looked sick. Not that they had looked healthy as they flittered about the stage performing tricks and begging for coins, but when they were still anyone could see how ill they were. And after seeing the healthy Pixies in Praxus when he was recovering, it made Grimlock’s blood boil.
They were fragile people, who were meant to be caretakers of trees and animals, not these hollow, sickly creatures.
Without considering whether or not he should, Grimlock shifted forms with a snarl. Many of the humans nearby screamed and ran, but he ignored them in favor of grabbing the cages and taking to the air with them in his claws. He could come back later, once they were safe, to take care of the people who had harmed them.
One of the Pixies screamed, too, but he didn’t have time to reassure them. He didn’t even know if they spoke any of the languages he did, and it wouldn’t be safe to find out until they were back in his temporary den.