Otter Creek I down a coffee, grab my axe and then I'm out

SETTING:
Weather: Overcast
Cool with slight wind.
Sunrise

TERRITORY: Otter Creek

TAGS: @Vengeance
Forward dated to 10/7/19

The anger. The bitterness. It seeped it's way into his bones, making their home in his marrow, feeding the fire in his heart with their chorus of song—And Clay, attentive, listened to it, grabbed ahold of it, and kept it close.

You're a crybaby. You're not smart. You're too weird. You're a burden to your family. To your pack.

It had been two days since he fled his home, two days since he abandoned everything with malice, two days since he had eaten, and two days since he felt his mothers nurturing licks against his fur. Two days.

2.

His paws were aching, rubbed raw, cracked, and bleeding from his endless walk up the slopes of sunspire. He didn't know where he was going, not anymore. Not that he cared. He set off with such energy and devotion to finding what was causing the quakes, to prove he was something other than a complete waste to his family. But now far, now lost, Clay had given up and was drowning in his resentment.

Even if he went home it wouldn't make a difference. His siblings would still be smarter than him. More eager to learn, more eager to please. And he would still be him. He broke down from the thoughts, falling under their weight and crumbling to the ground with a wretched sob as paws covered his face.

This morning he went on a patrol outside of the borders, away from the Woods to investigate further into the rumblings and perhaps see if he could come across anyone who knew more about it than he. It took time for them to spread the word of their claim, that the Nightwalkers were here and waiting to do the dirty deeds of others who were too afraid to get their paws dirty. 

but it seemed his plan would deviate yet again. It seemed that he came across a lot of youth lately, perhaps it was just luck on his side, the easily manipulated young brains and fragile bodies were so easy to play with. To some, the youth were "our futures", while to Vengeance... if they weren't one of his, under him, serving him; they were future competition. 

and easy prey...

slowly the brute sauntered over to the collapsed boy, overwhelmed by whatever may be going through his mind. There were no obvious wounds to speak of, and so he safely assumed it was something upstairs. Crimson eyes washing over his smaller body, his appearance strange for a young boy... feminine, yet his genetic scent indicated male. He had met one other like that, but in the opposite, a female imposing as a male. 

was this one going to be as sensitive as the other, he wondered. 

Head up, boy. Others won't announce their presence to one so blind to their surroundings. baritones verberated into the air as he came to a halt, just hovering over the boy on the ground. Had Vengeance been hungry... he may have practiced what he preached, and immediately attacked instead of initiating a conversation.... though, that didn't mean the kid was out of the dangerous water yet. It only had begun.

Sobs wracked his frame as he cried, each breath shakey and choked through copious amount of tears. Perhaps if the boy wasn't busy soaking the earth he would notice the stranger making their way over—but he didn't. His own cries filled his ears, making him fail to notice until it was only the deep, gravelly tone that broke his trance, forcing him to look up and startle away with an undignified yelp.

The man, no—beast looked down from above, his expression unreadable through the sun blocking him out from behind, making his shadow cast over the ground—over the eastholloian. Clay would of easily mistaken the guy for his father, except the air surrounding this character made him uneasy. It wasn't loving or warm like Greyback, no. It was cold. Harsh. And it made the fur on the back of Clay's nape prickle and rise.

"Head up, boy. Others won't announce their presence to one so blind to their surroundings."

Clay fumbled over his words as he stared owlishly. He didn't exactly know what the beast meant, and didn't want to spend too much time trying to figure it out. The only thing on his mind was if this wolf was friend or foe. Would he be like the witch his parents warned him about? The one that tore apart his sister?

"A-are y-you" Clay paused after his warbled words, his brows furrowing as he struggled to control his fear in front of the monster. "Who are you? W-where am I?" he tried again, still failing to control his trembling. But at least now he was slowly rising to his paws with his tail straight out and not tucked below.

He was crying, sobbing, he was pathetic. A look of utter disgust painted his visage as he looked down on the boy as his ears turned away in the attempt to try and ignore the gross sad sobs that fluttered from this one's maw. They twisted and turned in a look that almost gave him horns as they turned slightly inward. 

With every stutter the boy muttered, he grew more and more irritated. A piteous boy and nothing more. 

Quit your sniveling and speak properly! The words exploded from his maw, teeth snapping to punctuate his bellow, a low growl gently tickling his throat. You are nowhere, I am Vengence, Warlord of the Nightwalkers and you are in my presence. I have half the mind to end your pathetic blubbering here and now. Their location didn't matter, what mattered was who this boy was facing... and it was quite possibly the worst individual to try and get pitty from. 

No. This was was a monster, a boogeyman, the one who pitted no one and feared nothing; the day that death would come knocking, he would only claw his way back to the realm of the living in order to die a worthy death in the midst of battle, bathed in blood and pain. There was no comfort to be found in this pit of vipers.

Clay's posture instantly snapped into that of a ball at the man's booming voice and flash of teeth. He could of sworn a speck of drool landed on his cheek, or maybe it was just the sweat perspiring under his fur in fear. Either way— he was scared. Scared of this monster, of his words, of his appearence, of his voice.

So instantly, pathetically, instinctively, the small boy rolled onto his back, his tail tucked up between his legs to cover himself as a warbled whine sounded from his throat. He knew this shadow could kill him, would kill him. But Clay wasn't sure what to do. Would the beast-Vengenace, take pity on him? Maybe if he was submissive enough he wouldn't hurt him. Or, you know, NOT kill him where he laid.

Speak properly? Clay didn't know if he could. He tried before, but even then it didn't please the warlord. He was afraid, scared that he couldn't trust his voice. But if he didn't speak would he be killed? He licked his lips in fear, his nose flaring and dribbling. "I... I'm sorry Sir—I mean—Vengeance....Warlord, Sir," The boy didn't know what to address him as. Sir? Vengeance? Warlord?

"I'm lost. Please take me with yo—" Clay paused, surprised at the intrusive thought that glued itself to the front of his brain and slid past his lips without thought. Go along with him? With this monster? He was scared, he really didn't want to go!

But he was lost, he was hungry, he was cold...and he wasn't sure he wanted to go back home. To Easthollow. To his family. He swallowed. No. He wouldn't go back. Not with how they treated him.  "Take me to Nightwalkers!"

The gears turned within his mind as he thought of what to do with this boy. To leave him seemed so anti-climatic, but to take in such a pathetic thing seemed more so an annoyance than anything else... but then again, he thought back to @Hela and @Valour... the pups needed someone else to train with, and this boy was much better than the logs and corpses they found. Perhaps their bullying would stop him from being so submissive. 

"Take me with you —" the boy said, at least this time the stutters had calmed. What was most interesting... was he wanted to come back home with the blood-caked man. Finally, a grin found its place. A devious toothy grin. Seemed like the stars had shone in his favor today. 

But he wouldn't make it that easy. The boy had to make himself believe he wanted to be in there more than anything; otherwise he would run the moment he came into the mist. You aren't fit. The other pups are strong, willing killers. You are weak - could you, would you kill without reason. He'd break the boy, like the others, and make him a capable Nightwalker. All he needed was that spark to indicate he was capable... so did he? I could make you strong. 

One by one, even before the breeding season came to be - he was gathering the youth. Molding them to his liking. Would this one be added to such a growing roster - or would he be nothing more than a bag of flesh for the puppies to sink their teeth in and gain knowledge on how to battle bit by bit at this boy's expense. Either way, he had use for him after all...

His display seemed to ease the monster, or at the very least, convince him not to feed the earth with his entestines. Whatever it was, the small boy was glad that Vengeance wasn't talking in that booming voice. His teeth however, still flashed in a toothy grin, and all Clay could do was stare at the yellowed bone, not forgetting for a second how easy it would be for this warlord to kill him.

He still spayed himself low on his back, his paws curled inward as he was fed words of doubt. They were the same words his own mind whispered to him, the ones he knew his family thought and looked upon him with. Weak. Useless. Unfit. Clays once fearful stare was now gone—shadowed by something harsh and unforgiving as he let those words circle his at his head once again.

Weak.
You're weak.

It gripped his heart, encasing it in ice and chilling his body down to frigid tempature. Call it his stubbornness, but Clay refused to adhere to it. Refused to accept  it. He rose to his paws infront of Vengeance, his nose pointing directly at the creature as he stared upwards. He didn't notice that he eyes were watering, not until his vision was obscured and the fluid ran down his cheeks. But even then his olive stare was unbroken.

"I'm not weak." He breathed, loud and clear into the still air. His frame shook, struggling to hold the onslaught of emotions that flooded through the boy, but he wasn't about to lose. Not to his family. Not to this man or his pack of killers. Clay never thought of himself as a killer, but the word didn't repulse him. It was just a word— a tool. And if it meant that he could prove he wasn't weak he would allow himself to use it. "I'm not weak," he repeated. "But i'll allow you to make me strong,"

It was clear the boy was struggling internally. The unstable ground in his heart was like that of the ground they currently walk uppon. Shaking, stuttering, quaking, reforming under the earth's pressure as this boy would soon reform as well under Vengeance's pressure to evolve. Even with the tear running down his cheek (yes that did not go unnoticed), the defiance in the boy's eyes, the newfound strength to speak rather than stumble over his words pathetically was enough to show that he was capable of changing. 

He is not weak, he repeated. Convincing himself more than he would to the demon that looked down upon him. Then prove it to me. A challenge. A difficult rung to reach on the ladder of success when something like the Warlord set it. How far would the boy go to discredit the man in front of him? How far would he let the Warlord push him before he breaks?

I am Vengeance, Warlord of the Nightwalkers. Who are you?

"Then prove it to me."

He continued to hold the stare against Vengenace, his tail raised and body posed to radiate as strong of a presence as he could manage.  He was small, much smaller than the boogeyman, only coming up to his chest in height.

But that meant nothing to him.

One day he would be strong like the warlord; fearsome. No one would judge him or look upon him with a pitying gaze. No longer would he be called weak. He would stand above all, radiating a presence that would make even his family shake. His ears, without noticing it, turned backwards to mimic the beast; pointing upwards like a pair of matching devil's horns.

"Who are you?"

"Clay, sir. Clay Apaata of Nightwalkers." He answered back in a curt tone with furrowed brows. If Vengeance could tack on more to his name, then so could Clay.