Group Therapy (gay furry camp story)

12 - windburn

When he emerged through the door his son looked up at him. Bright little eyes, ears ragged as two chew-toys. Ben had to take it in for a second, the momentary happiness – even if it were surprise. The single flick of tail.

Good things don't last. Ryan's face melted into a tight frown, as though he were confused. As though the absences that narrated dad's sides were a math's question with too many letters for his little mind. Well here's some, broke. Broke as broken nails. Broke as the wood on the empty cupboards. Fuckin' a broken, like that bloody fridge. Oh but there was nothing to cool, my son. Nothing for nourishment. So let me be your flavour, my blood of

"The fuck you mean there's no food?" Bandit wasn't trying to keep his voice down.

Ears pricked throughout the camp. An uneasy silence had been amongst the few unpleasantries to replace the fox. Scattered all in their sleeping tents, counting down the hours until sunset-snoozing, all there was to do was listen. Our red-stained protagonist had quite a vantage point from the hole atop his tent.

The teacher. The lizard – said nothing for a while. His large had blew softly with the wind as he stared at the cat through narrow slitted eyes.

He licked his dry lips. "No food on the truck. Just water. Take it up with the boys at Camp D if you're unsatisfied with what they passed on."

"It's not us I'm worried about, mate. Those assholes can starve us all they want." Bandit said. He then scooped an arm around the lizards necked and craned him in close enough to whisper too.

Ryan wasn't sure what Bandit had said. But, if his coyote ears hadn't chosen today to deceive him – whatever it was, is ended with a 's' sound.

The lizard smiled. A horrible, toothless thing which Ryan's imagination half-expected to see flies pouring out of like a Halloween advertisement.

"Get your boys," The lizard said politely.

A bird was shaken awake. Consciousness reminded him that he had lungs, and whatever plagued them seemed to crack its fingers and get'a right'a back to workin'!

The flutter of a bear's eyelids were the full stop to the snoring.

A fox was distantly thought about, sadness holding hands with the paws that went for empty bedsheets, purely out of habit.

A hyena pulled his waker into a headlock, giving Bandit – much to his confused reluctance -one of his famous Flack-noogys.

Ryan nodded back at Bandit, already emerged from the grasp of his linen-kidnappers.

A wolf was... he was...

"I am your activities counsellor, given that a recent... incident... has occurred. My name is Mr. Sad. That's not what my parents left me, but it's what you'll call me. Which I'm sure you'll find quite ironic as I am a very happy person." That awful smile again, he left a hesitation for an expected laughter to occupy, but all there was, was that melancholy drumming of sand against tarp. Wind against fur. He didn't seem to phased by this. "I know what's on your minds, kids: Why would the new name I'd be given be Mr. Sad?"

"I don't think anyone was thinking that." Flack mumbled to Ryan. Ryan punched him on the shoulder and they shared a momentary smile.

The lizard's head turned unnaturally slowly. Ryan's eyes widened a little.

Mr. Sad paced towards them with long, effortless steps... and grabbed Flack's head in a choke hold.

Ryan went to intervene but was held back by a feathery barricade, alongside a beaky shake of an influenza-stricken head.