Raccoon thought he was going to die. He had gotten lost - first in a city filled with cars and then atop a mountain far up in the clouds. For weeks he had tried to find his way back home and now here he was in the middle of a desert, his legs about to give way beneath him. Yes, I’m really going to die, he thought, a lightheaded moment of clarity amid the confusion of the days that had led him here. He would die without ever again chasing his brothers up trees, without ever again feeling his mother’s paw stroke his fur as he drifted off to sleep on a cool summer night.