With a whoop April threw his head back, then he spat straight into the yawning mouth.
“Dat shot got you!” he cried, and spat again. “You can’ harm me, son! You is a-weakenin’! I see it! My spit is pizen as you’ own!”
“Come, Breeze! Looka dis scoundrel! Lawd, e sho’ is a whopper!”
The snake’s muzzle was covered with plates, its scaly brown body marked with yellowish square shapes; its eyes, full of hate, stared out from the front of its heart-shaped head. Breeze’s own blood had frozen in his veins, and his legs were almost too numb to carry him.
“You got blue gums, Breeze. Come spit in dis mouth so you’ll know how to do it next time!”
“Don’ make me do dat, Cun April.”
“You ain’ no gal-baby, is you?”
“No, suh.”
“Den come on. Git you’ mouth full. Now, aim straight fo’ de fork in his tongue.”
Breeze’s lips twitched so that he missed the snake completely the first time, but the next effort was a success.