Kintla Flatlands But Death Had Caught You in a Bad Mood

He leered, at his words. Because really, he wanted a man?
 
Well then Daighre would show him a fucking man, then. He wasn’t some random, worthless fucking nobody that was too much talk and not enough damn bite. He said as much, too.
 
“You talk too fucking much, snowball.”
 
Fucking good for nothing, piece of shit yearling—
 
Daighre lunged, a snarl tearing through his throat and his jaws parted, aimed at the bastard’s face or throat, anywhere he could reach and anywhere he damn well knew would make it so the motherfucker couldn’t talk. See if he was as much talk with a pair of teeth clamped around his muzzle or wrapped around his throat.