This week's word is Ankle and I did a couple for good measure. Thanks to Kripke for the loan of the boys to play with.
Sam tried but couldn't suppress his smile as he bent, passing his brother the cold brew, before retaking his seat on the rocks.
"What?"
Dean squinted, the warm glow of the setting sun tipping his tousled hair with an irreverent golden diadem.
Their filthy clothes were testament to the two day battle they had raged in the Northern Sinaloa desert but they had finally laid to rest all the ghosts of the 1535 smallpox epidemic.
Dean stretched his long legs into the foamy ocean, jeans rolled haphazardly to his ankle.
He sighed happily.
"Don't get any better than this, Sammy."
Any good?