Group Therapy (gay furry camp story)

9 - ear off

Ryan woke up to the sound of screaming.

Well, close to screaming: it was that horrifying call that the other boys were somehow able to make. It rung every inch of the camp like fleshy alarm clocks.

Before the coyote could fully gather his senses, Mortar was already dressed and out the door, not out of military fashion, he'd only managed to get half his clothes on by the time he flew out of the tent - whatever was happening outside, was not meant to be happening.

In fear of getting in trouble with bandit, Ryan pulled himself out of his bed and ordered his groggy body to walk outside the tent. He had completely forgotten to slip on a shirt, and the morning sun shun at him with a ferocity.

When his eyes adjusted, he squinted to see Bandit and the boys standing at the entrance of the camp, all looking similarly groggy and unprepared.

In front of them stood another group of a dozen boys. They all clutched makeshift spears and shanks and what-not.

Easily outnumbering the boys.

Ryan stood alongside them, in a spot between Kyle and Flack, who were quite eager on letting Bandit do all the talking.

"You're not makin' much sense, mate." Bandit said and yawned. He looked to be having an 'ear-off' with one of the boys from the other camp.

Mortar and another wolf - who I have yet to meet - with angry looking fur and brilliantly sharp teeth, both stood either side of the smaller cat as bodyguards.

A cheetah with fluffy yellow fur stamped the base of his spear against the dirt, not looking too happy. Ryan assumed him to be the leader of - he checked which side he was facing - Camp D.

"Are you seriously telling me that you don't remember making that deal?" His voice was oddly squeaky.

The cat squinted. "Remind me."

"You're fucking kidding. I told you, I told you, that if we gave you protection, you'd put aside extra water for us."

Bandit frowned, "First I've heard of it."

Beside Ryan, Kyle rolled his eyes and turned to him, "Camp D always do this fuckin' shit. Try the' scam us. Try te' blackmail us. They think that havin' a couple o' weapons smuggled in from the school gives 'em the right to walk all over other camps. Arrogant fucks." The young arctic fox spat at the ground, before returning his teeth back to a passionate snarl.

Flack leant over to whisper in Ryan's other ear. "Don't you worry, mate. They come a'ttackin, I'll keep ya safe." He winked.

Ryan couldn't stop smiling, and he winked back at the hyena, who chuckled to himself heartily.

The cheetah readied his spear in his arms, "You're lucky I don't order my boys to skin the fucking lot of you, for betraying us like that."

Bandit looked tired, as though this were a common occurrence. "Mate, put that thing down." His eyes shun. "You're gonna get yourself hurt."

The vein on the cheetah's forehead looked like it going to explode. "Fuck you, Bandit. You promised. Promised. Short, fuckin' liar."

"Not short, bucko." Bandit said coolly. "But the temper of some of my boys is. You sure you wanna keep playin' to that little story of yours?"

The cheetah bared his teeth, before giving a call of his own. A shrill, shrieking noise - like a strangled yell.

Two of the boys in Camp D came forward, both equiped with spears - that were more just shards of glass that had been taped onto broom handles. They didn't look too scary, Ryan thought. But weapons are weapons: so it didn't matter what the person looked like who held them, hell, even a baby with a gun could be scary.