Flycatcher Downs sweet little baby in a world full of pain

Vengeance. Hadn't he heard that name somewhere before? It hit him suddenly and his brows raised. "Vengeance is dead," he blurted out, angling his ears forward. "Um, he, I think the new leader killed him? But I don't really know her either." It was almost pathetic, how little he knew about his own pack. Did he even have friends there, other than maybe Memory and Santiago?

Subconsciously, he was glad his name wasn't Vengeance, either.

A smile crossed his maw and he shook his head. "I can't leave," he said calmly, thinking about the puppies and the girl in the pit and his companions. "There's people I gotta take care of over there. If it's really bad, then shouldn't someone try and fix it? Maybe make it less bad." Memory had said, after all, that he should take over if he didn't like the current leadership. 

His face fell again when Clay reiterated that he smelled bad and he shook off the disappointment. Regardless of all that Clarence was, he was still a teenage boy, and he didn't want to be told he was smelly - especially not by an attractive peer. 

The boy refused to give him his name, but he seemed... nervous about it. Almost like it would be bad to say it out loud. "That's okay," he assured, lowering himself down so he could be more eye-level with the other boy. Red eyes scanned him over slowly, then found their way back to green. "Did you get your scars 'cause of the Nightwalkers?" the piebald ventured to guess.