Redsand Canyon grow up, grow up, grow up, grow up

The boy sits out in front of what is presumed to be @Donovan's den, his head hung low and rain dripping off his slate fur in rivets. He doesn't know how long its been—nor what time it is. All he knows is that the sun is gone, covered by rain clouds that seem adamant to wash off some of his sin.

Or he likes to think so.

Belittling himself is easy this time—almost too easy. He seems content in it despite glaring his hardest down at the dirt below his paws. Claw marks have been gashed in the muddy mess for some time, strewing aside in lumps too small to benefit his anger, nor calm him down, and the deeper he goes, the more he notices it.

Clay—tiny bits of red sediment hidden beneath.
Is this what his parents named him after?
Disgusting, useless earth that has no benefit?