The Rattler is overjoyed
"A son with red hands ey? Were you caught red-handed while being less than decent with the ladies?" The Rattler gives the bars of his cage a mighty pull, but of course they hold. The rattling noise echoes throughout the caravan.
"And whoever would you want to call back? Can't you smell battle, can't you smell blood? Mind you, you might just be feeling the blood rising to your head. But me, I have perfect hearing and perfect smell. I smell blood. Human blood." He laughs, a clear laugh, such a contradiction to his character.
Buoyed by the apparent non-responsiveness of his guards the Rattler goes on. "Blood, blood, blood! Lovely stuff, isn't it? The blood pulsing through your veins, barely separated from the surface by a few layers of skin. How I'd love to peel those layers off you red-handed youngster to see what lies underneath that red surface. How I'd love-" he suddenly turns towards the desert sands and dramatically cups his hands to his ears, imitating the sounds of someone listening to distant sounds. "Your hands might be red with blood soon enough. I can only hope it will be yours."
He wonders who shall react first, his guards, who were always cool and composed, or this hot-heated traveler. Either way, the day can only get more interesting.
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