Grouse Thicket so i a[m] i point one back at them but not the index or the pinkie

LOVE THE ART

whatever godblamed explanation colt had expected, it wasn't this. the longer gun spoke, the more unblinking and closed briggs became, until,

he almost stopped responding physically at all, the slight heave of his sides the only sign he had not been turned into an ugly ass pillar of salt at hearing gun's devoted sin.
at length, anyone's guess at length, colt drew a long breath and blew it out his nostrils in the manner of a mangy dragon disturbed from his hoard of filthy bottlecaps.
her scent sunk into his brain, tried to pull the eyes from their sockets, crept down his throat —
"gun, if yew get pregnant yer out th'gang."
fair? course not. but gun ran in his group, on the ground that was rapidly starting to feel like his. he'd forbidden it for sadey. he forbid it now, forsaking his own wants in a semi-sort of selfishness based around their collective, though it would never be called altruism.