Haunted Wood Suck Shit and Try to Die

A growl sounded—deep and reverberated. It caught Clay off guard, throwing him mentally sideways in shock and fear. He had only heard that sound come from Valour once before—the meadow.

And then a laugh. Clay drew his brows at that, ears flicking back more to announce his displeasure with the confusing set of noises coming out of his friend. A growl, not playful, a laugh, not entirely happy to his ears. "Well," he replied, tongue-tied in his words and feeling foolish for misunderstanding. "What else was I supposed to think when that boy flirts with everyone, including me, and then I wake up to him licking your ear!"

He lowers his voice a few octaves to a small whisper. "You could of asked me to do it." Clay feels stupid for his outlash, for his stupid emotions, his stupid anger, his stupid crush. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But what really shocks him is Valours next words; an attack. Clay stands up at that, flustered as blood rushes to his face. His cheek fur puffs up, as well as his tail and spine. "W-WHAT!?" How could Valour know!? He never talks in his sleep, hes always kept his feelings locked tight. "I DO NOT!" he lied, shoving his face upwards in an attempt to be eye level with Valour.

He would lock eyes with the boy whether he liked it or not; big, doe-eyed emerald pools swirling with emotion at the Warlord's slated blue ones. He was still shorter than Valour, less muscular and more twig like. But that didn't mean we would allow the male to think hes better. "I do not sigh your name! Where did you hear such a rumor? Tell me!"

He pounded his paw on the ground at that, impatient and fueled. He was fire, and Valour? He surely was his gasoline.

Clay was embarrassed, utterly so. And as he sought to slam his paw on the ground once more pain shot up through his leg, ripping his wounds open and causing him to stumble forward where his nose pressed firmly against the larger males.