Luneshale Pass pantano

The desert breaks out in a choir.
Spitting, crying, snarling.

Sicario’s got his teeth on Sangre.
She isn’t scared.
Niño isn’t either.
He’s raving.

Power.
Weight.
The cartel had gravity on this soil.
The upperhand.

Soto snakes for the ghost.
Niño releasing the gurgle of an ear.
Red man’s scourging.
A violent whip.
Streaking blood.
Sangre’s blood.

The hound lights up.
Teeth, a yellowed flash against the deep blue sky.
Embedding with a gratifying crunch.

He clamps and tears his own jaws back and forth with sickening speed.
Aiming to shred red man away.