Kintla Flatlands But Death Had Caught You in a Bad Mood

Fawnboy.
 
He sneered at the nickname, the derision, his blackened upper lip peeled back and sharp white teeth on display. A growl rumbled low in his throat, warning.
 
“Yeah, well,” he stepped forward then, salmon pink tongue coming out to wipe his lips, his head and neck carried low, in with his shoulders and spine, slouching. He felt the earth beneath his paws, the poke and prod of rock underfoot.
 
“At least I’m not a little fucking bitch like you.” Seriously, it wasn’t his fucking fault the kicked stone just so happened to hit him. He wasn’t the dumbass standing stupidly under ledges and getting mad when shit fell off them.
 
No, that was all him, big and dumb and no doubt good for fuck all.