Stone Circle yeet machine

He wasn't sweet. He doesn't know why she keeps saying that. The boy grumbles sourly, both at his mother's affectionate choice of words and the fact that he had just obliterated his flying friend into nothing. Well, he didn't care anyway. It was just a stupid blubberfly and it meant nothing to him. Stomping his foot down in a sudden rush of anger, his ears fall flat against his skull as he smothers the already deceased creature into the ground, before stomping off, back into the confines of the den. He didn't even yearn for his mother's touch, which he rarely had so secludedly to himself. In fact, he found he couldn't feel much of anything than nothing at all. He didn't feel regret, nor sadness or curiosity; just white hot nothing. It was a feeling Ezra could neither understand nor explain, and he burrows his face in his paws, clearing his mind of all that had occurred only moments ago and shoving it back into the deepest corners of his memory bank.