Flycatcher Downs sweet little baby in a world full of pain

The boy had instantly crouched over to the ground in submission, but what the Nightwalker had intended to be some sort of submission tactic, Clay had interpreted as a crouch to attack. Instantly, the Easthollian had flinched and jumped back with a raised lip.

But then came the question. Another one that had slapped the boy across the face, leaving him winded and utterly shocked. He intended to answer, but the piebald threw another, and then another. Clay grumbled at that, and tried to get a few words out. However all that came was an undignified wail that lodged in his throat and tumbled out in a warbled tone like that of a fox.

"Shut up." He directed. "Just— shut up for a second." He tried to think about how to respond, how to accept and deal with the fact that perhaps this sniveling nightwalker might not actually be a nightwalker, or at least an unconventional one at that.

"Are you, or are you not a Nightwalker? You smell like one—" perhaps he should try to be nicer.

"-It's horrible."

Apparently he couldn't.