sometimes quiet is violent

They'd hidden away in a small crag within the cliffside. It was a tight fit to enter and exit, making it a rather inconspicuous choice of housing, and offered many more benefits to the young man who had chosen it as well. Clouse was a touch claustrophobic; moving through the narrow entrance caused him deeply-felt anxiety, and so he only did it when absolutely needed, helping to keep him contained when Scully wanted to take off. The constant ocean spray also washed away all scent and physical evidence of their presence, the sand regularly swept clean of any paw prints by the water.

Thankfully, the narrow crevice that allowed them in did give way to a more open space. It wasn't dry and Clouse didn't much like the smell, but he knew they wouldn't be here long (they never had been ever since departing the Dell) and he actually enjoyed the echoed sounds of the ocean. It helped him sleep, most times. Apparently, this wasn't one of them. He tried to focus on the sound, let it lull him into thoughtlessness, but his head refused to cease it's buzzing. What was he doing here, where was he going to end up? Clouse often was okay that they didn't ever have an end goal, or at least felt like he was, but now and then the thoughts would eat at him incessantly, as though something were very wrong with the situation.

Scully and Avella had brought food back only an hour previously, but he knew Scully would be back up soon and Clouse wanted to be up and ready to demand a hunting lesson. Somehow they never went right, he always ended up on Scully's nerves one way or another, or at least feeling like he was, and the learning was pathetically minimal. Clouse didn't want to give up though; when he finally met others his age, was he gonna fit in still? Or was he gonna look just as useless as he often felt?

He wished there was an off switch in his head.

With a frustrated sigh Clouse lifted his head and looked around. Barely any light was able to creep in, but his gray eyes made the most of what was available. Scully's dark form melted almost perfectly into the shadows, but the strips of silver throughout his fur reflected just enough to give him away. The boy could hear his cousin's breathing as well, even and deep. What was missing was Avella's much paler form. What was worse, Clouse wondered; squeezing through that damned threshold or sitting here with only himself for company? Often he chose the latter, but the anxiety already creeping under his skin was too much. He stood, held his breath, and pushed through the thin crack that led to the ocean's sandy edge.