Redhawk Caldera Bones in the soil, rust in the oil

Peregrine quickly lowered himself to the ground to avoid slippage, then held still as the pup attempted to clamber aboard his head. He barely held back a chuckle when little Tommy Gun went all of nowhere, his stubby legs too short and his tiny paws too inexperienced to obtain any real kind of purchase. Very, very gingerly, the Alpha tipped his head to the left to gently dump the whelp onto the floor.

Glancing down at him, the father was once more reminded of the pup's resemblance to his older brother. "We," he said, resettling beside T.G., "should definitely name you after a bird too. Something that resembles a nightjar. Like Kestrel? Or Cuckoo?" Maybe they could have a Cuckoo and a Cockatoo! "According to your Grandma Mo, nightjars are also called goatsuckers or nighthawks. I am pretty partial to the former," he fibbed, huffing a laugh, "and Nighthawk Redhawk is way too redundant, don't you think?"