Swiftcurrent Creek it ain't always for the better dawg, i can't lie

the initial thoughts were shoved out the mind like an arm-sweep over a table set for dinner. as the porcelain crashed, gun set down the information just provided, and looked it over.

tarsnout, gone.

red, gone.

clucker, fucked up beyond belief.

shit.

"two?!" gun almost whined, in a voice straining to remain level. "how hhig hehre they?!" none of that made sense, damn none of it.

like a woman digging her metaphorical hands into her metaphorical hair, diesel began half-pacing left and right, not making full turns.

"...shit shit shit shit shit." she looked at clucker again, at her horrific fucking state. if the mastiff left to look for the other two now, she could come back to a cold corpse.

"shit." gun spat off to the side.

"need... need 'ee t' lick that?"