"More like sheep. And actually, I have every business," Donovan contradicted, a bit taken aback by somebody telling him what to do with such authority. Authority that no mortal, hand-selected by Fate or otherwise, held over him. Ordering him around like some insignificant follower. Donovan turned, straightened his usually lazy posture to attempt looking more imposing in his simple black robes, and leveled the far better dressed cleric with an unimpressed glare. He hoped his glasses glinted appropriately.
People begged and pleaded or cursed at the general idea of him, but few ever had the opportunity to directly confront him for his actions. He found the idea of somebody being actually offended by his treatment of the bodies, his standard procedure dating back far longer than any of the pompous rituals of whichever century's religion, almost... Donovan's glare cracked into another chuckle. Amusing.
"You can go about your bit however you please, but I don't really provide any special treatment for that sort of thing," he admitted, leaning against his crook casually now that he was no longer concerned with intimidation. "I'll see him off safely as any of the others." That's all he could really do to reassure the cleric that he wasn't causing any harm.