Redhawk Caldera Bones in the soil, rust in the oil

The words Peregrine spoke meant absolutely nothing to the pup, who in his infancy understood them as little more than a rumbling noise coming from his shadow of a father. Despite their meaning being a mystery, the sound of his father's voice was a comforting thing to Whip, serving to sooth him close to sleep. A slight cooing sound passed his lips, and once comfortable, his kneading forepaws stopped and eventually came to rest across his chest.

But, before Whip could get too comfortable, his father shifted and imitated Whip's position. With his single squinted eye open as wide as it could with curiousity, Whip watched as his father mirriored him without making a sound. He remained perfectly still, waiting to imitate his father in turn.