By the time Andrea got her skirt and smock on and left the tent, Trals was already back in Leader mode.
"We arrive at camp before the sun climbs another handbreadth or I will pitch a new camp here with your useless hides for my tent! Get up, you lazy, drunken nodosaurs." He kicked a pile of bodies that resolved into five ethlek of various ages and sexes.
So somebody was getting boned. It was just Trals who had this insane thing about killing people who made him come. The twisted bastard. f**k him.
Or try, anyway.
"Up! Up! Hitch up that triceratops, no not that triceratops. Teeth in the darkness, man! Next time I'll let the beast trample your useless carcass flat. Now grab that goad and lay to. At least pretend you're an Eethlek and you know what to do with a damned triceratops."
The f
