Redhawk Caldera Two large gulps of free-range oxygen

At her astute observation, Peregrine laughed out loud. "This is true," he concurred, "but I'm pretty sure gray hairs aren't a surefire way to tell age." He crooked his paw and nudged her affectionately. "And what are you talking about? Have you seen my salt and pepper look?" As Peregrine spoke, he tipped his head skyward, revealing the fading fur on his throat and chest. Although he was still primarily panther black, he had ventral fading that crept further upward each season. He also had some white ticking on his shoulders and back that would likely lighten and spread in time.

"Anyway, you're only as old as you feel," he said, dropping his head. "I feel maybe about eight months old," he observed jokingly. "Potty humor is at the height of its funniness to me." Crude humor had been a favorite of his since a young age and his affinity had not changed, nor would it ever by this point in his life.

Knowing his sibling did not aspire to the mate-and-kids model, Peregrine lapse into silence as he wondered what Osprey hoped to achieve in life. Perhaps she was happy simply living it or maybe she was working on something else, a career perhaps. She could use those swift legs and that even swifter mind to benefit her pack, surely.

"Working on any trades lately?" Peregrine queried conversationally.