Wapun Meadow the nasty words of a hateful song

a grin greeted donovan's praise, something twisted and filled with the lurking mien of a skittering arachnid. fast, but he had felt the wind of the other's broad jaws closing just over his flesh, a steel hunter's trap slicing through boot and foot of a hapless wanderer — fangs like stone spires.
toward the man he surged again, this time colliding chest-first into the greater beast; single eye caught fire as gracile jaws parted and snapped up, up, up — he closed them around whatever was close, tightening until just teeth-ends pricked thin muzzle-flesh. a growl bubbled in his throat; he stayed as he was, daring, dancing.