FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The shadow being cast by the window frames had grown to stretch across the length of the court, like a handful of ember fingers. Ryan imagined them suddenly closing, grabbing both him and Kyle and dragging them to their dark fates.

He exchanged a brief astonishment at the principle's name with Kyle, and that seemed to lighten the mood. But each second that past was making itself visible in the concern of the fox's face. Ryan felt that if this really were an ambush, it would be now that the guns would come out.

But there were no gunshots. Only words: "Alright man, I think its about the right time to get you back to camp. The boys aren't very patient in the heat of the day. But now," The fox seemed to taste the own dryness in his mouth, "... I'm reckon they might just tolerate ya."

They left after cleaning up all the ball's that had been scattered around. They had been silent in that time, and any chance of small-talk was either killed by Ryan's nervous anticipation on just what this camp was. What also didn't help, what also 'kicked that dead horse named Conversation', was remembering how the fox had passed that ball to absolutely nothing. It stuck to Ryan's thoughts like glue.

They walked across the distance of desert that separated the basket-ball court from the actual school. "It wouldn't hurt to take off your shoes, when you're able to." Kyle said, "Camp culture is camp culture."

Ryan cocked his head, but took them off without question. The red soil felt chalky and soft under his feet. And warm: the fox obviously knew that perfect interval of sunset coolness off by heart.

Kyle dropped Ryan off at the front door and told him to look for a 'Yellow Staff' door once he was inside. Emphasizing the colour as opposed to the signage. "Don't worry man, ." Kyle chuckled and walked back out into the desert with no observable destination.

Ryan opened the door and was hit with the full blast of the air-conditioning. Not just a cool breeze, either; it seemed to be so purposely icy that it mocked all the desert life outside.

Whilst the school corridors were deceptively twisty and identically designed, Ryan managed to find the door before his head started hurting. The Venetian blinds around the door made the room's contents a complete mystery.

He opened the room to find a dimly lit classroom. In the corner, a hyena was masturbating under a large desk. He didn't stop at the sight of Ryan, he just slowed down.

"Why can't you idiots just knock for once." He growled

Ryan tried to maintain his composure. "I'm here to get set up."

The hyena squinted. Then, after a painfully long second he threw his arms up and exclaimed, "ah so _you're _the fresh meat!"

Ryan watched - and then looked away - as he got out of his chair and walked towards him. "I'm Mr. Hyde, and you are to call me by that only. Not sir, not dude, not mate."

"Sure." Ryan said.

Mr. Hyde (pronounced 'hide') had a squint that near kill a man. "Is there some reason that you're staring at the wall?"

"You're naked, Hyde." Ryan said.

Mr. Hyde snarled, sending spittle across the face of the coyote, "I'm aware of the you shit-nosed little rodent. And you'll get fucking used to it too. All I hate more than stupid questions is clothing, but right now your fuckin' face is getting higher on that list. So I suggest you _look, at, me _sometime _before _it reaches the top.

Ryan looked him in the face.

His expression calmed, no longer bearing teeth. "Good." He calmed right down to a smile in an almost concerning quickness. "Are there any problems with my face?"

"No, Hyde."

"And the rest of me? Any problems?"

"No Hyde. You look good." Ryan quickly added, despite not having the guts to look down.

"Oh, so you _prefer _me without clothes?"

Ryan struggled on that one. "Yes...?" Wrong answer, and he winced after saying it.

"Well its a good fucking thing I'm not wearing any then, isn't it?!"

This verbal torture went on for a while. And Ryan was left feeling pretty shaky by the time the hyena calmed down enough to remember why Ryan was actually there. And that took as much time as it did for the hyena to fall flaccid, which was a struggle since he evidently got off from all the power-abuse.

Mr. Hyde got Ryan to fill some paperwork, and to the coyote's relief it was the exact same format to the letter that Kyle had read out for him. He circled the middle tier of crime as he remembered 'murder' to follow through there. When the hyena got him to read and sign things, he'd just stare at the black and white for a while and then squiggle something random as his signature.

A few minutes later he was as nude as the hyena, as he had to strip down to show that there was nothing major and pointy hiding anywhere. When Mr. Hyde was satisfied he led the naked coyote over to a canvas bag that was bulging at the seams.

A name tag he couldn't understand deemed the bag as his possessions. And Mr. Hyde wasn't wrong when he described the contents as "Nothing worth smiling over.":

The bulk was explained by two pairs of long-sleeved cotton white shirts, separately wrapped in two pairs of mud-brown trousers with plenty of pockets. The colours were already faded, they had already been well worn. The only contents of the other pockets was a toothbrush and a block of soap that smelled of bacon-fat.

Ryan licked his lips before he could help it, and when he recovered from his senses he dressed himself in one of the sets of clothing. He wasn't allowed any of his previous possessions out of the room, as anything other than the bag was contraband in the eyes of Mr. Hyde.

"Is that all I need, Hyde?" Ryan checked after a minute of standing.

The hyena yawned and slumped back into his office chair, staring up at the ceiling while he slid a paw down his chest and toward his crotch.

That answers that.

Ryan stepped out into the night air, and there was a cool breeze that was dusting his new shirt with red. He remembered the direction that the fox had walked in. When he pivoted to gave that way, it suddenly made sense. Way house, just under the thin blue horizon, there was a small cluster of manmade lights.

The walk looked impossibly long. Ryan's throat was already hurting, and he debated with himself whether busting in on the hyena once more to ask for water would be worth the trouble. But he decided against the scenario, even if he made sure to knock this time.

"Alright..." He urged himself quietly, and was stunned at how loud his own voice sounded. He felt like a castaway, stranded in an ocean of red, but relating that to himself made him thirsty. So, he occupied his mind by putting one foot in front of the other and repeating.

One hour later, Ryan's tongue had a similar texture to sandpaper in all his panting. There were less tents than he had expected, but the ones there were large in size and looked to house at least half a dozen people each. The lights, all buzzing with a nightmare's worth of insects each, were placed around the camp in a way that no light was actually into the tents. The lights seemed purely there to prove the site's existence to the rest of the world. Purely there for people like Ryan.

There was no one there to receive him, and as he passed into the small campsite he heard snoring from a few of the tents. Ryan smiled at the idea of sleep... but water, water would be ecstasy.

Not having any options, he unzipped one of the tents - with the least amount of snorers inside - and zipped it up behind him as he snuck in. There were a handful of stretchers, and all except for two were occupied by silent, shadowy shapes.

A breeze kicked up outside, caressing the tent's sides with crimson sand. The sound was near to therapeutic, and Ryan felt himself dozing before he had even climbed into the stretcher, satisfied that there was no water amongst the others' belongings. Unsatisfied, I should say. He began to dream up thirsty visions of swirling blues, and large, tangling bodies of cool liquid. Ryan shuddered at the thought, and tried to fall asleep by promising his thirsty body that he'd find it water first thing tomorrow morning. Regardless, the stretcher felt great. His muscles eased and relaxed and he slowly drifted away...

"Psst." A shrill sound, making Ryan's ears twitch. "Oi!"

Ryan opened his eyes and saw that the dark shape on the stretcher parallel to him was sitting up. He felt like he had slept all of seven seconds.

"This ain't your bunk, mate." The shadow said.

Ryan had not forgotten how sore his throat was. "I'm new." He croaked.

"Yeah? Been a while since we've had a newbie..." The voice trailed off. "So, what'd ya do?"

Ryan tried to close his eyes, "Murder."

"Then this most _definitely _ain't your bunk, mate."

Ryan reopened to see the shadow stretching out an arm, and if his mind's compass was correct, it was pointing in the direction he'd be travelling in for that past hour. "That way. Your camps further north. A few hours walk, just past the next campsite up ahead, can't miss it."

"And I can't just sleep here?"

"Mate I wish ya could. But they ain't my rules, aight?"

With great reluctance, Ryan slid his body out from the stretcher and and brought himself back to his feet.

"Good luck, killer." The shadow yawned, "May Death be good to you."

It was hard to tell whether or not he meant the principal. The coyote strapped his few possessions back up onto his back and left the tent without saying goodbye.

The midnight wind blew with such a peaceful ferocity that it tilted Ryan's ear's to one side of his head. He shook red sand from his tail and began to walk on. He could see the same sort of lights on the distant campsite.

His throat was really killing him now, and he realised with a whimper that they lights were further, exactly touching the horizon. He shivered as his sides slowly stained with the deserts red, unsure whether he'd even get to that campsite, let alone the one after it.

But alas.

One foot in front of the other.