Blacktail Deer Plateau disasterpiece

croft huffs, a noise like gravel kicked loose. fuck, kid. you talk too much.
he rolls onto his side, lazy as death. doesn’t even lift his head, just glances at v through half-lidded eyes, like he’s already figured the bastard out.
merc, huh. you got the stink of it.
a pause, then a grin—dry, crooked, wolfish. relax, v. no sword here either. just teeth.
his voice drops to something darker, hungrier. and i’ve still got all mine. what about you? a breath exhaled, as if he’d just taken a long draw off a cigarette.