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“Fuck you.” He huffed.
His ears matted and pressed back against his head.
He was fucking tired of being told what to fucking do. He was fucking tired of everything he ever did, and everything he ever fucking felt, being fucking wrong.
And he was fucking tired of bending himself fucking backwards and twisting himself into knots for nothing at fucking all.
“Go back to fucking baby foxes, or whatever fucking bullshit you think is your fucking God-given duty.”
He was fucking done.
He understood now that he was in last fucking place in his fucking life. That everything and anything that had been fucking between them meant fucking nothing in fucking comparison to a fucking den of innocent, helpless, useless baby fucking foxes.
All he could fucking see was a feeble fucking old man that fucking thought killing small, innocent fucking shit made him fucking special.
It fucking didn’t.
It just made him a fucking loser old enough to fucking know better.
He could go and do whatever the fuck he wanted.
He was going the fuck to bed.
He slumped and laid on the ground.
His head on his forelegs.
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