Flycatcher Downs sweet little baby in a world full of pain

@Clay c: set April 6th, midday

Clarence liked this place. It was open, expansive, and prettier than the forests he was becoming used to. The ground was cold under his paws, but most of the snow had melted off under the sun. It was warm, comparitively, and the spotted boy felt like he was in heaven. Even if the ground was muddy and his legs were tired from what felt like endless travel. It was good to be in a place where he didn't feel trapped by trees or caves.

It wasn't that he didn't like his territory. Clarence didn't know the word for it, but it was a form of claustrophobia. Spending most of his life in a tiny cage, ready to be taken out and fought would do that to anyone. But it hurt his head to think about, so the piebald boy always pushed it into the back of his mind.

He paused in his walking, coming across a small bird in the mud. It was dead - a fledgling that hadn't thrived. Clarence frowned, nudging it with his nose to check if it was still alive.

That smell. He couldn't forget it. Of rotting corpses, decay—blood and bog. It clogged his nostrils, forcing his lungs to burn and protest as he stared blankly at the ground with a trembling gaze. He couldn't focus on anyhing, not with his stomach doing somersaults and his ears ringing like the songbirds above.

Why here. Why now?

He had already driven off Valour with a stern talk. He thought that would be the end of it. End of the Nightwalkers tracking him down. End of the hot feeling in his bones. Of the shivers that wracked his core.

But it couldn't be that easy. No. It never was.

After heaving up the mess that was his lunch onto the terrain, and giving it a glare as if it had personally pissed on his mother, Clay turned tail and stalked his way towards the direction of the stench. And when the form of another appeared, hunched over in the grass, he wasted no time in charging forward with a deafening snarling—tail raised and body taunt and he attempted to tackle them to the ground.

The piebald boy's mind was struggling to understand that the fledgling wasn't just injured and was, in fact, in a state of rigor mortis. Maybe it was hurt. Maybe it had fallen down and its wing was broken. But it wasn't breathing, and Clarence wanted to try and fix that. 

Only, he wouldn't get the chance to.

The tackle came out of nowhere, in his mind - but Clarence hadn't been paying attention. A body slammed into him and they went flying in a tangle of long limbs and white-gray-brown fur. It never occurred to Clarence to fight back, because something in his mind was already telling him you deserve this.

He wound up in a heap beneath the gray boy, on his back, tail tucked and forepaws curled up to his chest. Crimson eyes blinked a few times before they flooded, unbidden, with tears and a whine escaped his throat. 

"I'm s-sorry!" he cried out as an onslaught of sudden sobs shook his chest. Despondent gaze fell upon the dead bird on the ground and he hiccuped. "I didn't... didn't hurt it, I-I'm gonna try and fix it, 'cause it's really hurt!"

He had expected the other to certainly not.... be this.

He laid on top of the wolf—weird in color and sobbing his eyes out in front of him. Nightwalker was a far away term the boy would use to describe this stranger. He wasn't dark in color, nor was he currently spitting vulgar words trying to rip the Easthollians throat out.

Perhaps Clay had made a slight error.

He slowly backed off of the stranger, his eerie gaze trained on the white male till he followed the others gaze to a... what was that? A deceased bird? Clay scoffed at the sight, and turned back to face the stranger. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

What the hell is wrong with you?

So much. His head was messed up in so many different ways, and it throbbed now as he pondered the question, still sniffling and trying to regain control of his emotions. Ruby red eyes flickered back over to the bird, and upon closer inspection, it was dead. Not hurt, like he'd initially thought.

Oh. That... made more sense. Hurt things didn't lie so still.

Deciding it was best not to answer the male's question, the piebald boy slowly sat up, mud caked into his white fur from where he'd been tackled to the ground. Another scent reached his nose - vomit permeated the air when the other boy spoke. Concern crossed tearstained features as Clarence looked back at the gray wolf. "Are you sick? I can... uh, get you water, if you need it." That was right, wasn't it? Water when you vomited.

The male was silent, unwavering and just... STARING. Clay couldn't get a read on him, and with that came another surging wave of anxiety that crashed over him, dousing his body in cold. It froze him, keeping him still where he paws were planted on the ground; and when the male stood up Clay noticed the Nightwalker was way larger than he had previously thought. He towered over the Easthollian, and Clay fought his screaming nerves to take a step back.

"Are you sick? I can... uh, get you Water..."

Clay shook his head at the sudden question. What was that? Did he hear the guy correctly? He raised an ear and turned it towards the piebald. His brows high in the air and mouth pursed. "How dare you ask such a ridiculous question to me, Nightwalker." he hissed, the term sour on his tongue. Sick? If anyone was sick it was that murderous pack. "And even if I was, what makes you think I'd want help from your kind?"

Clarence's ears drooped in disappointment, his posture uncomfortable and effectively cowed down by the smaller boy. The piebald's head was lowered and his red eyes flickered over to the bird again - it wasn't right for the body to just be lying there like that, he thought absently. 

His gaze flicked back to the gray wolf and he frowned, brows knitting together. "Why are you mad at me?" he asked quietly, tail hanging limp at his hocks. He couldn't fathom what he had done wrong, or the things his pack had done in the past. The only reason he was there in the first place was because of Santiago. "I'm... did I do something wrong? Can I fix it?" Maybe he could. All Clarence knew was that he had never seen this boy before in his life, and yet must have somehow offended him. "I'm not... I won't hurt you. Or anyone. I don't wanna hurt anybody."

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.

The other boy wailed, and for a second Clarence was worried, but then he continued talking. All the piebald boy wanted to do was assure the smaller wolf he didn't mean any harm - maybe he wouldn't be scared or attack him again, then. Obediently, his muzzle shut and he watched the green-eyed boy as he spoke, ears angled forward. 

Was he a Nightwalker? That was what his pack was called, right? But did that mean Clarence was a Nightwalker, himself? He had no idea how any of this was supposed to work. 

"Um, I... yes?" he said, though it was phrased more like a question itself. "I'm Clarence. I don't, um, I haven't been with them very long. My friend joined and I followed him." His ears perked up, one flopping over as it did so. "I smell bad? Really?" He'd never thought of that before, but was his scent offensive to anyone else? Clarence hadn't noticed anything off about his smell.

Red eyes flicked back to the other boy. "Are you going to jump on me again? Because I really don't want to fight." A tentative wag of his tail. "Maybe you can tell me your name instead?"

The boy answered yes, albeit a little hesitant. Clay snorted once more at that, and was about to shove back without another half-baked insult on how if the boy was with them then his thoughts and actions might align with them.. but something in the back of his mind halted such a response, along with the constant chant of 'be nice, be nice, be nice.' All he got out was a huff while internally struggling again before circling the boy slowly, looking him up and down.

"Clarence? I suppose it's a better name than Vengeance." Clay retorted. At least this weirdo had a decent name. "I'm going to give you some advice, Clarence; Run away. Leave Nightwalkers." Yes. Just as he did. "You don't seem like their type, you're safer as a loner than you are with them." A breath. "And yes, you do. You smell like bog and decay. And no I will not attack you unless you give me a reason to."

He was hesitant about giving his name to the boy. He never gave his name to anyone anymore. They didn't deserve it, they didn't deserve to utter the only decent thing that was given to him in his life. But something about this Clarence, this queer character, made him possible trustworthy. Regardless, Clay was uneasy, and as such he looked away and rubbed his forpaw against the other in a nervous twitch. "Uhm..No. I can't."

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.

im sorry if this jumps around! I originally wrote so much but decided to chuck a couple paragraphs since it was a monster of a post and i felt bad! haha

First Valour, now Clarence. They were really taking this lie far. "It is not polite to fib," Clay scolded. "Vengeance was a beast, massive." Could he really be dead? Was it true? Clay fell silent, mulling it over. "...Are you sure he's dead?" he whispered?

To think that Vengeance might actually be dead helped melt some of deep pitted fear that filled his stomach constantly. If it was true—if the boogeyman was actually gone, then perhaps Clay could rest and not look over his shoulder every god damned second. And perhaps...just maybe... Nightwalkers might have possibly changed. It was still hard to believe, and Clay wasn't sure if he wanted to. If he did, if it was true, then the prince would have to admit he was wrong.

He was too stubborn to think about being wrong. He was too prideful, too precise.

Clay glanced down at his flank when the odd boy asked about his scars. What one was beautiful, silky fur that framed his back and haunches was  now torn, revealing his dark skin underneath. It was ugly. Clay wrinkled his nose at it. "It's also not polite to point out others scars. But I guess i'll humor you since I was rather rude before." Clay drawled, rolling his eyes and sitting down, still a great distance away from the other.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Implied rape

"No. They were not from Nightwalkers. Just from a man—a monster." he corrected. "One who sought to defile me and take what he wanted." Clay still had his nose wrinkled as he thought about the memory. He didn't want to think more about it, about the shadow that had loomed over him in the night. Of the weight upon his back and hips, of the pain in his backside and the stickiness that was left behind as he laid crumpled and sobbing under spruce.

But once more, Clay didn't want to think anymore of it. He shook his head in attempt to clear the thought.

"I'm not fibbing," Clarence argued then, a bit miffed at the accusation. "Yeah, Vengeance is dead." He was pretty sure, anyway. "A girl is the leader now. A girl and Serem. Not Vengeance." A massive beast? Clarence had seen plenty of those in his life. Was Santiago maybe classified as a massive beast too?

Not polite, not polite. Clarence wasn't sure he'd ever really heard that word, but he didn't like the implication that he was doing something wrong. "I was just saying, because I have scars, too." A small smile formed on his maw. "Scars are good. They're a reminder that you survived and that you're super strong and stuff. Besides, they don't make you look ugly. I like the way you look." A very teenage thing to say - flirt with the pretty boy, Clarence. That was certainly smooth.

Large ears angled forward as the boy spoke, and Clarence's expression fell. He wasn't the most observant, but even he could pick up on what had happened. The scars on the backside, the defilement, the taking. It had never happened to the piebald boy before, but he'd seen it occur. A lot of bad stuff went on in the arena. 

"See, though?" he asked, tilting his head with a small, encouraging smile toward the smaller wolf. "You're strong. You're still here and talking to me and being real brave. That's really awesome."

Not Valour? Just Serem and a girl? But that didn't add up..."Not Valour?" He repeated, asking aloud this time and tipping his head to the side, letting his cheek fur conceal a part of his face with gravity. But.. Valour had told Clay that he wasn't leading, was he lying?

Clarence went on his own spiel about scars, something about how they made a wolf appear strong. But Clay didn't really listen. He was too strung up—his head in the clouds as he thought about the agouti boy. The bright oranges of his fur, the dark eyes. His thick muscles...

He was only a boy in love, and one quick intrusive thought let to another.
And another.
And another.

It was too late for Clay to get back into the conversation by the time he noticed he had mentally checked out; And being as head strong as he was, the Easthollian didn't want to admit he hadn't a clue what had come out of the spotted wolf's mouth for past few sentences.

He just blinked and nodded, hoping that would suffice.

Until he heard the Nightwalker flirt. "What" He questioned, voice taken aback as he tried to recall what had been said. "You like the way I look? Are you honestly flirting with me right now?" Whatever good mood that had been worked up over the course of this conversation flattened, and Clay felt disgusted by the words, by the fact that this stranger sought to butter him up. "Ugh,"

The prince got up immediately, swift to send the stranger home with a glare. "Were done here, go home Clarence." He didn't necessarily mean to be so quick to snap and send the lad home, but Clay was but a prisoner to his emotions—unkept, volatile, explosive, and in that moment he saw an opportunity to flee. To hide away and recharge from this long lasting conversation, and frankly embarrassing encounter.

So he got up and lifted his chin and tail high, attempting to assert dominance while he turned to walk away.

It hadn't really occurred to Clarence that the boy wasn't listening, but he did flinch back when Clay suddenly turned harsh again. His comment truly hadn't been meant to butter him up, but rather to encourage him and make him feel better about himself. But apparently he'd been misread. The boy lowered his head immediately, about to ask the other teen what flirting even was - apparently he'd done that - but the gray wolf cut him off instantly.

Go home, Clarence.

The spotted boy turned away immediately, away from the dead bird that still remained on the ground, and away from the cruel boy. Maybe, if he were lucky, he'd never see either of them again. Chest aching with the rejection and head and tail low, Clarence began off in the direction of Nightwalkers.