Luneshale Pass [m] es la otra mano

Soto.
He’s about as best a friend as Niño has, but there's a careful hierarchy to divide them. Jefe is greeted with a vacant stare and a stray tongue that darts up over the edge of offal-stained teeth. He may as well have well confessed his deep and abiding love. 
“Estaba atado. Con dos,” he drawls, “aquí ahora.”
Juárez then, the feline keeping to his shadows, sizing him up, no doubt.
Fuck. He needed a fuck and a bath. Maybe they'd be pleased. Maybe they'd find him dispensable. He'd followed them out to god knows where like the staunch dog he was. It was pathetic, or reliable. Probably both.
Niño didn't much care either way.