Otter Creek [m]una vez más, con sentimiento

She's titillated.
The eyes light up now.
And not with disgust.

The green. It has that effect.

Mm, a shiver down his spine, but a face of stone that foretells nothing.
Gingerly, carefully, for such a massive fiend, the hound packs his mouth with powder. Rubs his gums with his tongue.
He beckons for Sangre, this time with a paw full of green.
Watches this play out, like storied poetry in motion. A touch of the sublime in the mind.

“Verde,” he rumbles in introduction, as if they are two acquaintances meeting for the first time.