Redhawk Caldera No cat calls, no tag teams, no mascots

He nearly winced when Peregrine spoke, having expected to be asked to leave the vicinity, but instead his father merely greeted him and explained the situation. "S'okay," mumbled the large Redhawk, although his tone was coloured with a hint of disappointment. He imagined smaller versions of wolves hiding in the den, completely ready to play and do all the things pups did, so it was perhaps for the best that he was unable to see what wolf pups really were like for the sake of his imagination, which was already lacking. The disappointment would've been unreal had Nightjar known that wolf pups were little more than living peaches that squeaked and shit everywhere.

He seated himself where he was, refusing to get any closer for the uncomfortable sensation that disobeying a direct order from an alpha caused. His eyes traced Peregrine's descent from the top of the den—still somewhat graceful in spite of the alpha male's lacking eyesight and age—and then smirked when Peregrine spoke next. "Does that mean they'll do my every bidding?" he wondered, and was half serious about it too. He would never make them doing anything too dangerous, of course, but the thought of having a tiny army of pups to do whatever he wanted was pretty sweet. Besides, ladies loved pups and he would have a whole bunch of them to tote around like little accessories.