Just as quickly as he spit me out, he took hold of my arm. I could not remember if I was right-handed or left. The oily secretions from his adenoids and tonsils slicked my hide. I could not tell if it was saliva, or some other ungodly lubrication. But its slickness did not stop him from resetting his clamp.
Now I could see his mane. His eyes lacked judgment, as though he did not consider me with disdain. I was too bruised and punctured to be scared. If either of us were to survive, I was going to have choose between adroit and southpaw. Either way the purpose was to escape and regroup once he took my limb. Hopefully that 'chicken wing' would be enough to distract him while I made my getaway.