Redhawk Caldera gravity is a myth; the earth sucks!

Ferret nosed around the barren site, the black leather at the end of his snout brushing past the bodies of the dead, dry, crispy locusts. His ears were folded back. The bugs were gone and their bodies were boring to him now. Even the usual small animals were scarce, and he looked around pointedly hoping to see a squirrel, a bird, or something. But he saw nothing. The boy inhaled a deep breath and dropped to his rump, expelling his breath in a sigh such that the tail end of it came out as a whistle. His ears flicked upward, his lips now formed in an 'O' of surprise at this new sound that he made.

His pause was short lived. Soon his black-dipped tail started tapping against the ground with a devilish spark lighting up his eyes. Ferret pursed his lips and blew again, delighted to make yet another whistle. Soon, the bandit was whistling all manner of notes and was bouncing and frolicking around his homestead with the discovery. Overhead, a chickadee fluttered by and alighted on a bare branch, drawing Ferret's attention immediately. He stopped and stared at the small bird as it turned and canted its head, peering back at him.