[ A quiet country cousin who Alfred admires wholly, jeans and boots and spitting and all. Well, except for the quiet part. Clint is like an old cowboy from folklore, all silent power and frowns. Alfred is more like Blazing Saddles meets Brokeback Mountain with some Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron thrown in for good measure.

And he's one of the few cousins who Alfred will actually listen to instead of, you know, blatantly ignoring before doing something stupid in teenage rebellion and boyish excitement.

His birdie gaze follows the hawk as he drifts away and his outline blurs. ]

I can't! Second I let my soul slip away from fireworks and spacious skies and amber waves of grain 'n all that good stuff, I could go plummeting from the clouds like a big naked angel!

[ Can birds waggle their brows? Probably not, but somehow he's doing it. ]

If I landed on some uncursed lady, bet that'd make her day, hah!

[ And probably break all her bones but you know. Details. ]