Lion Head Mesa i found a catalyst for disaster in you

A metaphor. Murdock was sure he'd never bothered with metaphors, when he'd been at an age with this boy. That was normal, though - most wolves were cleverer than Murdock had been in his youth. Still, he wasn't sure he liked the tone the kid was taking with him. He'd been talked down to often enough in his life, but never by someone so young. He'd only been trying to help, after all - Well. Until he'd begun trying to pick a fight.

This time, the male really did snort - but it was directed more at himself than the boy. "I'm not the scarin' kind," said Murdock, correcting the boy's assumption. He was too lazy to be scary. A smart wolf would still look at his large frame with consideration, but almost never with fear. He was long past his days of cannibalism, after all - though he still had a penchant for causing trouble. "It's called trash-talkin'. It's how you pick fights," he explained, tired of trying to goad the boy and deciding to go the more direct route. "Now, it sounds to me like you've got somethin' to prove - or at least a bit of anger to work out of your tiny little body. Let's see how well you do against me, huh?"