Otter Creek [m]una vez más, con sentimiento

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When Sangre awakens, he’s waiting.

In the night, he’d dragged her unconscious body to a small watershed. Now it chilled in the shadow of the cold mountain.

“Lavarse,” hound commands.

He stands still.
Watching.

The first thing she realized, when Tierra woke up, was that her head was killing her. It took her a longer, groggy moment to recognize that she wasn’t anywhere familiar.

Tierra groaned, but cut off abruptly when she realized she wasn’t alone. Are you serious? What the actual fuck do you want!? He’d said something she didn’t understand but she hadn’t bothered to try parsing it out.

There was something absolutely menacing about him and the way he stood there. But she wasn’t willing to accept yet that she couldn’t have this be on her terms. She didn’t remember what he’d done to her or how she got here, wherever here was. She just needed to figure out what his whole deal was. Then she’d know what to do.

No one was looking for her.
They’d have already come.
She was all alone.
He had her in his possession.

She was going to make it another fight. He would remind her how well that worked last time.
The hound remained, barring her escape from the narrow gorge. His hackles stood where it wasn’t matted with dried blood from their tangle the night before.
She would bathe, by her hand, or his. Niño took a step forward and reared his tail, shepherding her towards the water. His lips lifted for a rumbling messaged they'd both understand.

He was unbearable. First refusing to recognize that he was speaking nonsense and now threatening her again. Tierra wobbled as she stood and the world wavered a bit in front of her. Luckily she wasn’t interested in standing up straight anyway.

Instead she remained hunkered and gave a low snarl back, already irritated into making things more difficult than they needed to be. Tierra was a lot of things but a quick learner was not one of them.

She was going to make his life as difficult as she could until he showed her some respect. It didn’t matter that she’d had no success so far with following up on those threats. Just the hope that this time would be different was enough.

Hate wells in her fire-eyes. A pocked smirk muddles the hound’s twisted snout. “Los jefes no les gusta que sus perras estén manchados,” he grunts, paws pooling on the gravel in a stalk towards her.

He likes the resistance.
Means using his teeth.
But they’d done a number on one another last night, and he wasn’t about to pull up to Luneshale looking like a filthy dingo.

“Ser una buena poco perra, ser recompensado,” a full yellow grin. His shoulders round, tail flexed, nostrils flaring out like the moment before a viper’s strike. Then he makes a grab for the thick fur of her neck, using his body as a buffer against escape and attempting to drag them both into the cold water.