Stone Circle turn off your porcelain face

She shook her head, and in turn he did the same. "Don't be sorry. It is not your fault." He didn't want his mother to feel his shame. To bear his humiliation and sorrow. It was his, after all. And he alone would bear the pain and weight that he carried within his bones.

She asked him to talk about it, but Clay couldn't. He couldn't find it in himself to open back up. Not now. Not yet. He had been cut open so many times, flayed out and bore his belly to the world for it to sink it's fangs into. If he were to do it again he might not survive, or so he thought. But nonetheless he nodded to his mother, a lie that he would.

"Just promise me if you smell, see, or hear of The Nightwalkers that you run. Run far away and take everyone. Don't fight them, just run." He warbled out. "We're monsters, trained to kill wolves efficiently and quickly. Weather it be for power or for food." He turned to face the stones in the distance, their forms towering far over the horizon.

"Newt is gone?" Clay didn't care much for his father. He didn't worry for the man who was old and big as the trees themselves. He could take care of himself, but newt? A shiver ran through the boy. He wanted to care, to spend more time talking to his mother; but the mention of food has his stomach turning, and he could no longer ignore the sharp pain that settled there. "Please take me to the caches, I don't think I can walk..."