He is a man of few words. He is a force to be reckoned with, contained only by his family. They are everything to him. His understanding of the world, of right and wrong, of reality is tied intrinsically to them. There is no one and nothing that matters outside of them. He follows their orders — though is prone to making bloody messes — without question.
His devotion to them is such that even being tormented by them is something he doesn't mind. Or, in the very least, is something he does not oppose. He stands there and takes it because they are family. The mere thought of becoming angry with them, of harming them is unthinkable.
You don't raise a hand against your family.
Walls have ears
Doors have eyes
Trees have voices
Beasts tell lies
Beware the rain
Beware the snow
Beware the man
You think you know
He is more or less disinterested in them. They are confusing with their emotions and complicated languages — things which he hardly understands. His proclivity for violence, often childlike in execution — the inside is so interesting — is off-putting to some, but he is none the wiser. His happiness comes in those small, macabre things and the closeness he has with his family. Always, he seeks their approval and never does his trust in them waver.
If not family, who else does he have?
Outside of the Nightwalkers — his family — opinion ceases to be relevant. Outsiders gain his attention only because he is told they should have it — a fatal things, really. Reality is as they tell him it is. There is no question within him or interest to test those things he is told. They know best. They always know best.