Lost Creek Hollow i'm out of the game

the hard glint in the young man's eyes; like a dagger gleaming dangerously in the fleetfooted sunlight ...it rankles the dark pelaged st. clair. veiled, however transparently, in the slight bristle of his guard hairs. pale jade gaze moves once and lingers only temporarily upon the boy's medicinal stash before laying once more upon the pale boy before him; the assumptions made. he was under the influence of the plants he has at his side, like a dragon hoarding its most prized possessions. joaquin was never one to dull his senses; far too reliant upon them being sharp. the consortium had been no place for highs ...or perhaps it was just the particular reaper garbed lieutenant that stands here and now that had no tolerance for such antics.

the words the boy speaks are immediately perceived as utterly disrespectful and they draw the slight lift of his lips from his teeth. a small flash to show that the question does not go appreciated. would it be grandfather standing in joaquin's place the boy would've felt the old man's teeth already. your snort suggested that you did. if you have something to say boy, you should say it. adopting grandfather's blunt way of speaking was easy; easier when he felt the stinging rise of annoyance and impatience. don't hide behind dulled senses, a gesture towards the flora with his paw. — and thinly veiled snorts.