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Babies, Chicks, Hatchlings.
Hot Pants isn't quite sure the word to describe the dozen or so little, wobbling raptors that stalk around behind their progenitor, one Diego Brando, who has taken to being exasperated frequently - probably due to the dozen or so wobbling raptors following his every footstep.
Hot Pants isn't quite sure of the word because they weren't really born; they didn't hatch from eggs, they are merely extensions of Diego's powers. Well, extension implies they are attached and perhaps controlled by him. They are very much not. Scary Monsters is temperamental at the best of times and at its worst, actively destructive in all manner of ways. It is, after all, a dinosaur. A prehistoric beast of hunt and hunger. They don't blame Diego for the hassle he has come to cause - it's no skin off of Hot Pants' back, because it is his home being wrecked and they simply bunk there. With regards to the little raptors, they couldn't be further than Diego's worst. The creatures chirp and hiss, stomp around with tiny feet (though the razor talons upon their largest toes already look a thing quite dangerous) and pick and preen at their rough sprouting feathers as they go. They're ugly and grey and awfully sweet and curious and will not stop biting at my ankles shoo, shoo!- Diego so aptly says. To spite him further, the little ones do not bite at Hot Pants' ankles, they just gather and sit around them curiously when Diego is too irritated - it is the wisdom of children to know the limits of their parents and when to leave them be. The raptors also find themselves being indulged by Hot Pants under such circumstances; enjoying the thrill of Hot Pants lifting and throwing them (carefully) into the air only to be caught again. Or sometimes Hot Pants will throw them forwards away so the dinosaur has to run back, always eager for more. As long as it keeps them from bothering Diego (because it is Hot Pants who has to listen to the unique ravings of a man out of his depth with his clutch of small dinosaur-children, and Hot Pants prefers Diego quiet and calm - he is more amiable under those scenarios and far less annoying if such a thing is really possible).
Sometimes, however, he betrays the façade of only feeling grievous frustration with the raptors. In secret moments that only Hot Pants is privy to (well, perhaps Silver Bullet witnesses such when she grazes in the emerald fields in the vast acres of Diego's lonely estate) Diego sits and snores in the summer heat under the willows. The gentle curtains of their leaves and branches make for good and welcome shade after a long day of picking blackberries amongst the brambles on the edge of the field, or after he's done sowing seeds in a desperate bid to keep busy and to make the land feel like home.
Regardless of why he sleeps, with the midday sun beating down defying grey England's proclivity for rainy days and abhorrently unreliable weather, he sleeps calm and surrounded by equally resting dinosaurs that huddle to him for warmth and comfort, and Hot Pants is quite sure he is fond of the little ones' company as his tail, deep and blue, carefully surrounds the flock (his flock) of juvenile raptors, curling around them to pull them ever so slightly closer to his sleeping body.
And, on occasion, Hot Pants invites themself to join Diego in rest and to cuddle with the vicious little monstrosities. As they sit down against the sturdy trunk beside their partner, Diego shifts in his slumber, to lean against their shoulder, knowing their presence well even in sleep.
The wind hums and the leaves rustle a soft percussion as noon is spent surrounded by love, life and warmth (and a dozen snoozing raptors).