The Sunspire Death Is A War[M] Blanket

Thankfully the guy moves off of him, but not without returning his own little mark of pain. Right on his ear. Clay hisses at the feeling, snaking his tongue out once more between the front of his barely closed jaws as a statement, hoping that Donovan sees it. Hoping that it does something to the man to elicit anger.

He hates that the behemoth is laughing; Laughing at him. "We're not playing a game." Clay says flatly, instantly rolling away from the guy and rubbing at his ear with a cuffed paw. It stings. and it probably will for a bit. Something that he's not looking forward to.

"—And im not a kid, don't call me that." He spits, standing up to shake off his pelt in some failed attempt to dry against the sputtering rain that still fell around. He hates this weather. He hates the rain. And he's slowly becoming to hate this Donovan.

Yet he doesn't leave.

"It was nothing. Don't worry about it—it doesnt concern the likes of you." He turns away with that, showing the full view of his torn hinds to the brindle as he crawls  back under the ledge to take cover. He doesn't glance back until he's forced to, until he's sitting with crossed paws and glaring intently at the man. Wishing that he HAD kicked his balls off.