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?

they’d enjoyed the rain at first; the heavy cloud cover providing shadow for their fur and a temperature marginally below boiling. now, with the canyon thoroughly flooded and no sign of the rain letting up, that opinion was beginning to change.

the irony did not make it any funnier.

renard’s paws squished in the sand with every step; they were very close to giving it up as a lost cause, if not for their own pride. but that was about all they had left to entertain themselves with, for another day of waiting and biding their time, and placing one foot in front of the other, testing the balance and the sound, they came around the corner of the canyon wall –

and stopped.

the slate-grey figure at the mouth of donovan’s den had not been among the gathering at ursus’ border. a brand new member then, and one who’d chosen an interesting place to pass the time.

and an interesting choice of member, but donovan's taste was questionable at best. half-dead wolfdogs, spies, cannibals, traitors. he couldn't be out of place, as frustrating as that was to admit.

“another new recruit?” renard’s gaze cut between him and the mouth of the cavern, smile already rising on their face. “looking for donovan?”

Eventually someone had approached him.

Turning an ear to the sound of paw steps, Clay let his glare follow; First their paws, then their face. He was relentless with his gaze, unwilling to let it go in the presence of another. Perhaps if he wasn't in such a sour state he would of remembered his manners, his teachings to be courteous to others.

But Clay was ready to set the himself  and the world on fire, strangers be damned.

"Why would I be looking for him?" An icy tone as cold as they come.

He returned his gaze back down not long after, idly going back to his ministrations with the mud, this time pushing it around slower with more power, his paws and limbs shaking from the poorly restrained fire that crackled within his veins. He didn't need to think more of Donovan, not right now. The man was a potential cataclysm to his mind—a parasite.

the kid – and that was what he was, he couldn’t have been much more than a yearling – wasted no time in displaying just what kind of person he was – glaring, his voice icy as he spat a short sentence in their direction and then went back down to looking at his paws.

one of those, then.

if there was a consistency in donovan’s taste, it was people who opened their mouths and charged ahead without thinking. it said something that the only two who weren’t, as far as renard could tell, were either spies or had run off in the middle of the night.

whatever praimfaya was up to looked like a better and better option each day. of course, she wasn’t likely to tell them.

which just proved their point.

“no need to be so defensive, kid. you’re in front of his den in the rain.” smile sharpening, renard appraised him steadily. “or is he fucking you too?”

He didn't mean to snap, but the fellow's words stoked the fire within his body.

"Or is he fucking you too?"

Red-hot, searing heat scorched the boy's veins, and in an attempt to cool them he sucked in a short gasp before looking upwards. What did this idiot know? HOW could he know? Was it plain as day?

Rising up to his (unsteady) paws, Clay gave the other a murderous glare as he moved forward. Long stilted legs carrying him somewhat easy to the lad, but no doubt the wobble of his hind gave away the truth: he had in fact been a product of the monster's desire recently.

With a ghosted breath so small and little, the prince uttered something closely to the others face while mere hairs away; "Shut the fuck up."

It was a simple phrase, straight to the point and leaving nothing behind to imagine when it came to the boy's anger. He couldn't afford to say anything more unless he wanted his voice to warble. The fact of 'too' was a punch in his gut.

Donovan was fucking others.
He wasn't the only one.

He wasn't special.

there was – there had always been – something deeply satisfying about finding that weakness. maybe a little less satisfying here. they didn’t even have to work for it, just thrown out a goading comment – they hadn’t expected this much of a response.

it wasn’t without a base. nemisis and auriel squabbling in the pass, his insistence on ending every conversation and spar with flirting. even if they weren’t as willing a participant.

the kid got unsteadily to his paws. if a glare could kill he would’ve had them dead already, wobbling on his hind legs as he stalked over, as much a betrayal of the truth as everything else he was doing. renard let him come all the way up, muzzle nearly brushing theirs.

“careful,” they said. smiling. “don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Truthfully Nyra had no reason to be near Donovan's den, but she had caught a new scent overnight and was coming to investigate.
This new fellow seemed rather angry. 
With a furrowed snowy brow, the titaness paused to try and assess the situation, eavesdropping on the conversation, watching as the smaller, slate-colored male got in Renard's face with a wobble of his hind legs. 
She glanced between them and softly cleared her throat as she came much closer with a quiet, calm voice "Gentlemen...you don't need to fight. I don't think the Grandmaster would appreciate one of his own laying in a pool of blood outside his den, regardless of who it is." 
In reality, Nyra didn't know if that was true, but she wanted to stop a fight if she could manage. 
"Besides, if you two go at it now...if we ended up getting attacked by one of our enemies anytime soon...you will need your strength. It's hard to defend yourself if you are already hurt." 
Nyra glanced at Clay as she pointed out the hardship of fighting while injured - a wordless gift of advice to him to back down, at least for the time being. Her golden gaze was kind upon looking at his face.

The other's words did little to sooth the fire in him. In fact—it only kick started it.  Never before had Clay been so utterly fed up, so hot, so short-circuited. He wanted nothing more than to beat this stranger into the dirt.

Pulling up his lips into a snarl, Clay was ready to tackle the other until a large, imposing white female entered the scene. Halting, he took a glance to her with just as much hate as he held before. Her words, like the other's, did little to calm his anger that was bubbling and over flowing. "I don't give a crow's shit about Donovan or his enemies!" He spat at her feet.

Brushing past her with a shove, the prince set his targets on the agouti stranger as he ran forward, attempting to tackle the other into a dirt with a loud battle cry.

in any other situation, renard might have bothered correcting the woman who appeared on the scene with the clear intent of defusing the fight that was seconds from breaking out, but, well. the fact was that there was a fight seconds from breaking out, and they were more interested in that, smile playing around their lips as they waited.

cute attempt. it wasn’t going to work, of course.

they might also have appreciated the effort, if they weren’t already working the kid up to come after them. but they could forgive it, because come after them he did – snarling, snapping furiously at nyra before he turned.

renard was already halfway gone by the time he set his head down and charged. he went right past, throwing up clay and sand and water in his wake, and they let him go, turning their muzzle just a fraction to watch. curious whether he'd try again, or nyra would take it upon herself to intervene.

“next time, try not to yell, kid.” something that was either irritation or amusement curled the edges of the words; they weren’t even sure which. “you’ll give yourself away.”

Playing nice didn't seem to work, and the slate-colored boy charged at Renard, only to miss his target. 
Without any warning, Nyra's switch flipped. With a violent roar she whirled, charged, and grabbed Clay by the throat just below his jaw - the fleshiest part - and took him to the ground with a monstrous snarl. 
More pressure from her own jaws was quick to follow, threatening to rip his throat out if he didn't submit.