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Summary
Smoke drifted his way, as if there was a low-pressure front that pulled it through the air and towards Trigger no matter the initial aim. There no force in the world that could have stopped Trigger from raising his head this time. He met Bandog’s eyes, crinkled with sadistic amusement. Did he know? He had to know. He had to know what he was doing to Trigger, because otherwise, he wouldn’t be doing it.
There was nothing on earth that smelled like a burning cigarette. Earthy, musky, sweet, savory. If longing and need smelled like anything, they smelled like smoke.
