Firefly Glen [m] revelarlos

Chewed. Stared. Was all he could do.
The boy’d never had it so good. Meat so tender it melts on the tongue. Folks to eat calmly beside, no din about meal time or whose share’s too big.

This older lady, she’s not really so naive. The reality where this is all some elaborate setup crosses his mind. Maybe he was the one being played a fool.
But he gulped down as much as he could and even cleared the dirt of any leftover fatty juices. Wondered if he could coax from them some more elk if he stayed put. But that was that.

“Sí,” he nods. He’d be back. In a few weeks, if all goes to plan, when they’re jonesing for more green, her whole village would be celebrating his return like the second coming. Green for elk. He’d pick up several more of these satchels for los jefes. Girls for his bed, too. They’d be throwing themselves at him.

The hound sucks wind through his teeth and takes turns to take his leave.
But he stops.
Turns to look over his shoulder at pretty one and a little face by her legs.

“Señora. Los niños.” His chin juts, first towards the herb, then the little girl. “No comida medicamento. No– eat.”

Call it pity, call it weakness. It sure as hell wasn't morality. Just didn’t wanna have to deal with annoying tykes, is all.
He slips off then.
Adios.