Redhawk Caldera a smooth sea never made a skilled sailor

Once he left Donnelaith, Peregrine refused to stop until his feet touched the caldera's soil again. He walked through the day and night (several of them, actually), pausing only to fetch a drink or take a quick breather. He didn't make particularly good time, on account of his aching head and hollow gut, but he trekked resolutely south across the wilderness until his weary, torn paws brought him to his borders and then up the hillside to the literal and figurative heart of his homeland.

"Ferret!" he shouted when he spotted his son, tiredly trotting over to his eldest only for his brow to knit in concern. "Are you sick?" he asked, his heart dropping into his stomach when he saw the puddle of yellowish bile. The sour scent of it made his head swim and stomach lurch. "Where's your mom and your brothers?" he asked next, feeling a little short of breath as his jade eyes scanned the empty rendezvous site.

It registered, very dimly, that there were patches of green growth here and there. But Peregrine's attention soon returned to the pup as he attempted to ferret out the reason for his boy's ailment.