Two Rivers Isle my guns

Don't you go butterin' me up now, a pass of his tongue is given to a red-painted chin. save your appetite.
He doesn't take much from the body, not at first. Skin is torn open with yellowed canines, warm blood lapped at with a gentle fervor. You sure are quite the fella yourself, his weathered paw rests upon the junction of the deer's lower jaw, ears gnawed at with blunt molars.
His gaze burns. You think yourself to be a family man, Colt?