Redhawk Caldera Bones in the soil, rust in the oil

"Hey, little Tommy gun," Peregrine purled as he stepped into the den to find himself face-to-face with a squint-eyed brown puppy. "You don't look like a potato as much anymore," he said, dropping his head to the kiddo's level as he explained the abrupt name change. Of course, the pup couldn't hear a thing he said. He probably couldn't see much, either. But hopefully he could discern the shape of Peregrine's face, his moving mouth, and start to memorize his features as the Alpha himself had been doing to all four pups since their arrival nearly two weeks ago now.