"Let me go first. Here."
Sliding carefully from my back and opening the pouch on her stomach, Kyrie hands me the wiggling and whining clump of dark fur. My teeth gently grip the loose scruff of skin at the back of its neck and it calms down quickly.
I believe they call it 'dorsal immobility'. I remember hating it as a kit - and as a young adult fox. Because it was always done to keep me in line.
I'd probably hate it now, too, but luckily I'm the biggest one here. And no one is getting jaws around my neck.
"A human looking woman will be less alarming. I'll be right back. Keep safe."
But she does get both her arms around it. Which wasn't half bad - though I could do without her rubbing her face so hard in my fur. Because it makes me almost as worried for her safety as I was for my son.
