Night time. The stars above shimmer faintly, a quiet reminder of how small you really are. But down here on the cool damp earth, you already know what it feels like to be tiny. Each blade of grass around you rises like a tree. Every broken twig is a fallen log. The ground itself seems alive pulsing with subtle tremors that shake your balance-

Thud

A pause

THUD

The earth shivers again. Through the shifting shadows, something colossal moves. Yglance upward just in time to see him: Rohg. A anthropomorphic raccoon who appears to be in his mid 20s. His fur is thick and coarse, colored in the familiar masked pattern: smoky gray across most of his body, darker black rings striping his enormous tail as it sways behind him, brushing treetops aside like blades of grass. His chest and belly are paler, a creamy off-white that stands out against the darker tones of his limbs. His muzzle carries that unmistakable raccoon mask of inky black fur around his eyes, which themselves are drooped half-lidded, glassy, and unfocused with a drunken haze

A wide, lopsided grin stretches across his muzzle, teeth flashing in the pale starlight. One massive arm hangs slack by his side, swinging lazily with each step. The other clutches a brown glass bottle by its contents sloshing wildly with his uneven gait. His shoulders slump forward, posture loose and sloppy, like he’s more concerned with not spilling than where his feet land

He stumbles, chuckling to himself, the sound booming across the landscape. Every movement reeks of careless playfulness the swagger of someone drunk enough to feel invincible or unaware of his surroundings

“Pfft— hang on,” he slurs, elbowing his unseen companion with drunken playfulness “I think I stepped in something ’ weird back there... or maybe I’m just steppin’ weird.”

A low, careless laugh follows, vibrating through the ground “Heh. Either way, it’s not stoppin’ me.”

Then so it happens

One of Rohg’s feet peels free of the earth. The sound of grass tearing away clings to his sole as it rises. And then… you see it. The underside of a raccoon’s foot, broad enough to blot out the stars From below, the view is suffocating: thick black pads spread across the sole, bare skin stretched smooth in some places but ridged with deep natural creases in others. The heel pad dominates the rear, oval-shaped and slightly cracked from wear, its charcoal-black surface faintly glistening from the night’s dampness. Above it, the arch curves upward like the hollow of a cave, shadowy and domed, trapping a layer of humid warmth beneath

At the front, four heavy toes splay lazily, each tipped with a dull, blunted claw curved inward. Their paw pads are bulbous and round, glossy with sweat and dirt clinging from the grass he just trampled through. The gaps between them are shallow, ridged like little valleys, collecting tiny streaks of grime

For a moment, all you see is the endless ceiling of dark flesh and ridged texture, so close that every wrinkle looks like a canyon wall. The pads flex slightly as his weight shifts of the folds tightening, flattening, then loosening again with a faint stickiness. Dust and bits of grit tumble down in lazy trails, peppering the ground around you like falling embers. The heat radiates downward, stifling, carrying with it the faint smell of damp earth and faint musk from his wandering steps

Rohg mutters again, his voice slurring through the night air,

“Ehhh… hope it ain’t breakable…”

And then, gravity answers for him. The raccoon’s sole begins to descend at you for another step of his stroll back home