This is the fourth transformation story done for furs who replied to my
Want to become your fursona? thread. It's for
Lawrence --
and I changed the name to fit the subject a little better!
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The world was a blur.
Lawrence blinked the tears out of his eyes and kept pedaling. The trees swept past him, the branches whipped at him and slid over his helmet, the wind rushed past his ears and the speed -- the flying sensation of riding a bike -- told him he was going way too fast for this narrow path, and he was going to get himself killed.
He didn't care. He vaulted a short hill and splashed into a puddle, and brown water soaked the front of his pants legs and splashed the lens of his welder's goggles. And he just kept going, as it trickled down the lens and across the backs of his hands, rippling in the wind and then flying off to splash onto the leaves behind him.
He didn't stop until he saw the wolf just down the path.
Lawrence pulled on one of the handbrakes. He realized too late that he'd forgotten which was which, on this new mountain bike, and sent himself flying as the front wheel locked up. He tumbled over the ground, splashed into another mud puddle and cut his leg on a sharp rock, so fast that he didn't have time to cry out. His bicycle bounced off the ground and landed right next to him in a heap, the back wheel still spinning and chain still rattling, and the only thing left of the wolf was the sound it made crashing through brush to escape.
Lawrence jumped back to his feet, scared and confused, a jumble of emotions and impulses. He checked himself over and didn't see anything wrong; the cut was on the back of his lower leg, and the pain hadn't registered yet. He stood there, hands on his knees, gasping for breath and trying to reassure himself that he wasn't dead. And he looked at his bike, at the metal contraption sprawled out beside him, and could only think "
I am so glad it didn't land on me."
Then he remembered the wolf, and all of a sudden he held his breath, for fear that it was still nearby and he'd drive it away even further. His heart was still racing from the accident, and he tried to take slow measured breaths, to get enough air without making noise. The wheel of his bike was still spinning, and he reached out and stopped it. Now the world was quiet, and wind rustled the forest as birds sang above him.
He took his helmet and goggles off, wiped sweat from his brow and looked out into the woods, having trouble controlling his breathing. He wanted to see if the wolf was still there. He had to know if it was still there. He wasn't afraid it would eat him. He was afraid that he'd scared it off. He could still remember the look on its face, eyes wide and ears swept back, as it'd seen him barrelling down at it on his mountain bike.
Lawrence had seen coyotes before, down in the hills; small dog-like things, not much bigger than a housecat. They were skittish, and ran off when he got near them. This had been a wolf, almost as long as the trail was wide. And if his eyes hadn't been playing tricks on him, it had not been a common gray wolf. It had been a
red wolf, a member of an endangered species that had been hunted down and nearly killed off by humans. A creature rarer than hen's teeth, that he'd never come across in a zoo and had known he would never see in the wild.
A creature that he was in awe of. That he personally identified with. And that he had just frightened away.
Long seconds passed, as squirrels peeked out of their hiding places and bees crawled over weeds on the path. And Lawrence found himself fighting back tears again. Because he could imagine them standing next to him and mocking him again. Making fun of how pathetic he was. Laughing at how he drew pictures of animals instead of plowing them over in Hummers.
The last time he'd gone riding with them, out on the country roads, they'd hit the brakes and
backed up to run over a turtle. A little girl had been standing on the side of the road watching it, and he still remembered the hurt look on her face as they laughed at her and took off.
They would have charged ahead whooping and hollering, as the wolf took off into the woods. Maybe they would've shot at it, with BB guns ... or .22s. And they would have laughed at Laurence's wipeout, because it wasn't something a
real man would have done. Only a dumb
furry.
They wouldn't have even known what it meant if he hadn't told them.
He couldn't believe that he'd told them.
* * *
Lawrence sat there in the dirt, letting the tears out and shuddering. After about a minute he noticed his leg was cut, and while it didn't look life-threatening it was long, and bleeding, and stung like crazy -- a fact that he'd just now noticed.
The pain brought him back to reality. He didn't have any water to wash it with, or anything with which to bandage it. He stood up to examine his bike, and as he did so his leg stung sharply, making him wince. His bike looked intact, but there was no way he was stretching his leg out to pedal it. And he was at least a mile from home, across the muddy trails behind the house.
He gingerly began to stand up his bike, trying not to pull any muscles in his hurt leg, knowing that he'd need something to lean on for the long walk home. But it was harder than he'd thought, because it'd gotten stuck on something and its center of gravity was towards the other end. He tried to move around it, but pulled on his hurt leg by accident and fell on top of his bike, in a crash of metal and pain.
Sprawled out on top of it, hearing the sounds of the forest around him, feeling the bike press into his organs -- and the firey cut in his leg that was going to get infected -- he wondered if it would be such a bad idea to just lay there and wait for something to eat him.
He imagined what the others would've said; bitter, hurtful and mocking. Those were the sort of words that were supposed to make you get up and fight, just to spite them. But somehow, he couldn't find the energy.
Then he imagined what his friend would have said. His
real friend, his best friend, his friend who'd always been there for him. Who'd expressed her doubts about his latest "friends." Who'd gotten into arguments with him over whether or not it was a good idea to try to impress them. Who'd never gotten mad with him, even when he'd told her what he thought of her, and the words had been not his but theirs.
He imagined her standing there right now, looking down at him, a look of concern behind her glasses. "
What are you doing?" she asked.
He mutterred something incoherent.
"
You need to get up," she said. "
Come on, I'll help you."
Lawrence stood up. He did it under his own power, even though it hurt, because he didn't want her to strain herself.
"
That's good," she said, and brushed her long hair out of her eyes. "
Now pick up your bike. I can't carry you the rest of the way to your house."
He limped around to the other side of it, and pulled it back upright. Then he situated himself so that he was leaning on it, holding onto the handlebar, facing the way he had come.
"
Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" his friend asked.
She kept him company for the next hour or so, as he limped over the trail. He told her everything; his doubts, his misgivings, his pain. And she was forgiving and patient, but she asked him a lot of hard questions, that he spent a long time thinking about. When he said something that did not seem to work, he pretended that he hadn't, and tried it a different way. And somehow he felt that she knew he was doing that, but was playing along for his benefit.
After a while Lawrence wasn't sure what else he could say to her, and she politely bid him farewell, letting him know that she looked forward to hearing from him. He looked down at the wheels of his bike, now caked with mud and debris, and realized that it was slowing him down more than helping him now.
He walked another ten feet with it, until he got to a fallen branch about an inch or two across. Then he leaned his bike up against a tree, and picked up the stick, testing its ability to support his weight before breaking the twigs off and leaning on it.
His younger brother ran up to tag along with him, in his mind's eye. "
Your friend told me you aren't hanging out with those kids anymore," he said.
They weren't exactly kids, but Lawrence nodded, gritting his teeth as his staff slipped on a rock.
"
How come you wanted to hang out with them to begin with?"
"Sometimes," he took a breath and staggered forward, "when you're surrounded by people who act a certain way," he staggered again, "it starts to make sense after awhile."
"
So it's sorta like peer pressure, huh?"
"Yeah." The sun was setting behind the trees, and he knew that he'd have to hurry to get home before dark. Lawrence braced himself, then tried to walk normally with his staff, on a level stretch of the path. It worked ... his leg did not seem to hurt as much now.
"
What happened to your leg?" His brother peered at it, with the morbid fascination that little kids have with blood and injuries.
"Wipeout," Lawrence told him. "Major wipeout."
"
Awesome." His brother grinned.
"Yeah." Lawrence winced. He couldn't talk much while he was trying to walk on his hurt leg.
"
Did you hit a rock or something?"
"No. I saw a wolf in the middle of the path. So I braked to avoid hitting it."
"
You saw a real wolf out there?" His brother was wide-eyed with fascination.
Lawrence told his brother what it'd looked like; the scared look on its face, the gray-red fur of its pelt. The way that it'd taken off when he'd wiped out. And, cautiously, he began to explain why he was so interested in them.
"
So you pretend you're a wolf, on the Internet?"
"Pretty much." He stepped around a thick root, which was snaking out into the path. "Sometimes we play pretend. Sometimes we write stories, or draw pictures. Maybe someday I'll have a fursuit -- it's like a big costume."
They walked in silence for a moment, before his brother said "
I wanna be a wolf too."
Lawrence grinned.
* * *
The two of them walked and lost all track of time, the injured red wolf who leaned on his staff and the energetic young pup, who pounced on anything that moved. The walking had long since become rhythm, and Lawrence could imagine himself as his fursona -- as a living, breathing, anthropomorphic red wolf, whose face looked just like the one that he'd seen for a second. He could imagine the way that his ears would move, and his tail would swish, and his fur would ripple in the breeze. And he could imagine the way that it'd feel, to be so alive and so strong and so confident.
He clenched his free hand into a determined fist, and felt not fingers but thick pads and claws. His wolf-self would be able to handle a scrape like what he'd had. And would know how to apologize and set things right, with his family and with his real friends. And so would he.
By the time he got within sight of the edge of the forest path, and bid his brother farewell, he felt like he'd been transformed, in a very real sense. He felt that he could stand up to those people, who were cruel to both people and animals and who'd mocked him for things they did not understand. And as soon as he got his leg treated, he wanted to spend some time with his brother, and call his best friend on the phone. He had a pretty good idea of what he would say to them. And, hopefully, how they would respond, as well.
He inhaled deeply through his muzzle, nose wet with perspiration and breath billowy in the cold, and looked out across the last twenty feet of the path. The illusion was partly dispersed as he stopped to think about it, but it came back to him as soon as he started walking again. He was almost there-
Something rustled, along the path to his right.
Lawrence turned and looked. And there, not ten feet from him, was the red wolf he had seen down the path.
It had a squirrel in its jaws, its bushy tail hanging limply from them. And it had the most shocked look on its face, like it'd been caught with its paw in the cookie jar. Lawrence froze, as his heart leapt into his throat.
Slowly he reached for his pocket. Carefully he pulled out his camera, hoping against hope that it hadn't been damaged. He turned it on with a beep, and the wolf's ears went back and its tail stiffened, as it stared up at him in fear.
He lined up the wolf in the viewfinder, and pressed the button. His digital camera made a noise like a real camera's shutter, and the flash went off and lit up the whole trail. The wolf bolted, crashing through brush and running away from him. And Lawrence pumped his fist. "
Yes!" he exclaimed.
His mood could not get any better.
Hastily, Lawrence cycled back through the camera's options menu, to review the picture he'd taken. His hands were shaking, with the cold and with excitement, and it took him a few tries to press the right button. But when he got it to the right picture, he stopped.
There on the camera's screen was a tall boy in a green jacket, with a pair of goggles around his neck. Holding a squirrel in his mouth.
Lawrence began to sweat. Then his skin started to itch, and he suddenly felt dizzy ...
