Kings of the Wyld (The Band, #1)

by Nicholas Eames

and Clay had just begun composing his death scream (he was thinking something high-pitched, sort of a falling from a great height meets I’ve just shat my pants, with a touch of petulant little girl doesn’t get her way thrown in to spice things up) when he heard a deep growling behind him.

The drum-deep voice of one drifted down to him from above. “I don’t get it. So if I literally froze my balls off —” “Then it would mean that your balls had actually frozen and fallen off,” boomed a second voice. “What you really mean to say is that you figuratively froze your balls off.” “So I’ve been using it wrong all this time?” asked the first. “Literally!” his

He’d never smelled anything quite like it. If a bear lived in this cave then it had died here. After a rather violent bout of diarrhea. Possibly brought on by the excess consumption of skunks. Who had also died of excess diarrhea. Several weeks prior.