Blacktail Deer Plateau stars are not small or gentle

There’s a sharp crack of tiny teeth breaking open the shell of an acorn and Stitch’s ears twitch, her tail brushing against her hocks as she glimpses over her shoulder to see Frank sitting comfortably at the junction of her shoulders. The baby raccoon’s gotten good at balancing when she’s eating without tumbling off — the first time it happened Stitch thought she was going to have a heart attack from the worry! — and Stitch lets out a soft, affectionate noise. “Are you nervous Frank? I’m nervous.” Stitch shares though she has yet to figure out if Frank is capable of understanding her or not but she likes to think that the procyonidae does and therefore typically acts like she can. “I mean they could turn us away,” Stitch is …Stitch and her last experience with this wasn’t bad per-say but she’s never been anything but quirky. Being a mom to a baby raccoon probably ranks right up there as the quirkiest thing she’s done to date. She’s out Stitch-ed herself, as her brothers would say were they here. They were not, thankfully. “Or, I mean they could accept you but turn me away.” Stitch’s pupils dilate in their pools of crystalline blue irises and she looks over her shoulder at Frank, wide-eyed ( as if that was an actual possibility because to her it is; damnit Frank is cute ). Who wouldn’t want a Frank? Frank lets out a small baby noise around her mouthful of acorn. “No, no. I wouldn’t just let you. Don’t worry Frankie, we’re a package deal.” She assures the baby and she swings her head back to her path before her, black, leathery nostrils flaring as the pack scent becomes stronger.

“Hmm,” Stitch draws, contemplative as her steps slow, leaving an adequate distance between the borders and herself. She’s tentative, hesitant and still kind of afraid they’d want Frank but not her ( oops ) but otherwise …hopeful. “Everybody loves babies, Frank. I think you should do the talking. Charm them with your cuteness.” She jokes but she’d never put Frank in any sort of position where the baby raccoon’s in danger or rather, she’d try not to. Evidently no one told Stitch that she wasn’t supposed to adopt the baby raccoon but the thought of eating her had never occurred to Stitch and if it would have, it would have made her ill. “Hit them with the big guns first,” Stitch glimpses over her shoulder with a smile. “That’s you. You’re the big guns.” She coos to Frank who blinks at her and nibbles at her acorn some more. “Don’t eat too many of those, Frankie. You won’t be hungry for lunch then.” Stitch chides in her mom voice but she nevertheless turns a blind eye to it: like the mother that pretends she doesn’t see her child sneaking cookies out of the cookie jar because it’s not hurting anything.

She’s stalled long enough and her nerves are not any less heightened so Stitch summons her courage and sends up a howl announcing her presence to the pack and it’s leaders.

517 words