Redhawk Caldera Somewhere only we know

"Whip, Whip, Whip," Fox said, testing the name aloud. "I like that for him." One down, three to go. Peregrine mentioned wanting to give one "Pan" as a middle name, and she nodded in agreement. Pan, wherever he was, had always been an asset to the pack. She still didn't quite believe he had just wandered off without a word. It wasn't like him. Then again, perhaps he had. The world was a fickle place, and wolves fickler.

"Ferret," Fox said, little hesitation between Peregrine's remark and her answer. "He reminds me of my father, Coon." She smiled sweetly at the little bugger. The white and black one was a little bit more difficult, and she squinted at him in thought. "Gannet might work for him... they're white birds with black-tipped wings and toes." That left one, the smallest one, who had just curled himself into a ball.

"You know..." she said, remembering a story from her youth, "there's an old story my parents told me a few times about a runt pup that never grows up. His name in the story is Peter Pan!" It was a double-whammy in Fox's eye.