Redhawk Caldera Have you come here for forgiveness

Her question echoed one Peregrine had asked himself lately. If he counted his adopted kids—which he did, even after all this time and strife—and even Junior, then he had a solid dozen. That was enough to fill a carton of eggs the ranks of a pack. True, he didn't know where half of them had gone at this point in time but that didn't take away from his pride as a father. Surely some (maybe even most) of them were out there doing great things. Hell, some of them might even be cranking out his grandkids, a thought which only just now struck him.

But Osprey's question about Peter drew him out of his mind whammy. He laughed at her wild guess, then shook his head. "We named him after a story from Fox's childhood. Peter's the runt of the litter but he's perfect," he rumbled affectionately. "His middle name is Pan, after a dear friend of mine we lost a few months back. Peter Pan. Oh, and Whip's full name is Whip-poor-will," he added, knowing she would appreciate the naming convention there.

He playfully raised an eyebrow at her modest remark. "Don't think it works that way, Oss," Peregrine replied laughingly. "Here's the thing, though. Whether you have one or twelve, it doesn't matter, as long as they're happy and healthy. And thank goodness love is a finite resource." He probably didn't have to tell her how the love a parent felt for its child was deep and all-encompassing; he was sure she'd experienced that with the pups who clearly hadn't survived to see this day.