Photo prompt courtesy of Madison Woods and the Friday Fictioneers. As usual, follow the link to see the photo and to read what everyone else came up with. Criticism welcome, especially if you find this is becoming redundant. (This would be the final installment of this story line I think.)
The woman said she’d call their parents but her husband whispered something and then said she’d drive them back home instead.
Owl and Raccoon’s socks still squished in their shoes as they stepped out of the kitchen smelling of cinnamon and oranges and into the late afternoon.
The woman talked about the area, how things used to be.
Raccoon wasn’t listening. He stared at the clouds. They curved and whipped together like waves. Waves they could’ve ridden. He wished the raft held, wished they’d made it further down river, wished he wasn’t going home.
“We’ll build another one,” Owl said.