Six hours~ Time enough for any male to clean, preen, and be out looking looking to drape themselves over A woman’s sturdy arms.
Red combs teeth bite into the fawn’s head-fur eliciting a soft whimper and tear.
“Mom I think we’re done.”
Soft brushing, a soothing sound once upon a time, but now a constant reminder of her son’s inability to capitalize on his dainty physique.
“Don’t ruin this for me”
Six hours~ and perhaps another two if this hair would finally behave itself.
A mother would sacrifice anything to ensure their child had a prom she could be proud of.

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