Flycatcher Downs sweet little baby in a world full of pain

The piebald boy's mind was struggling to understand that the fledgling wasn't just injured and was, in fact, in a state of rigor mortis. Maybe it was hurt. Maybe it had fallen down and its wing was broken. But it wasn't breathing, and Clarence wanted to try and fix that. 

Only, he wouldn't get the chance to.

The tackle came out of nowhere, in his mind - but Clarence hadn't been paying attention. A body slammed into him and they went flying in a tangle of long limbs and white-gray-brown fur. It never occurred to Clarence to fight back, because something in his mind was already telling him you deserve this.

He wound up in a heap beneath the gray boy, on his back, tail tucked and forepaws curled up to his chest. Crimson eyes blinked a few times before they flooded, unbidden, with tears and a whine escaped his throat. 

"I'm s-sorry!" he cried out as an onslaught of sudden sobs shook his chest. Despondent gaze fell upon the dead bird on the ground and he hiccuped. "I didn't... didn't hurt it, I-I'm gonna try and fix it, 'cause it's really hurt!"