Redhawk Caldera So let me hold you tight and share a killer, diller, chiller, thriller here tonight

Peregrine made a pbbbbbt noise. "I'm not gonna die," he assured as if it were the most absurd notion ever. "Like... ever, I mean," he quipped. He paused, then amended, "Not for a while, anyway. Even if we have a big litter, we still need to make one or two more to catch up to my parents. And I swore to Osprey that I would do that, so..." Yeah, he needed to live and procreate for another few years if he wanted to achieve that goal. He was suddenly glad he had overcome his hesitations because beating Aether and March Owl in the baby-making Olympics was suddenly top priority.

And he was suddenly raring to go yet again, despite the state of his battered throat. Even though Fox's heady scent was enough to burn his lungs all over again, he clambered to his feet as he prepared to maneuver both of them into position. But then he winced and paused to collect himself. Maybe he should give it another few minutes. He was pretty sure Fox had very nearly choked him to death. It was funny in hindsight but his respiratory system certainly wasn't laughing at the moment.

"I don't care what they are," he thought out loud, "as long as they're nothing like Ferret. Or Junior." Why did he feel a very strange sense of déjà vu when he said her name? It made Peregrine shudder. There was a reason he had barely spoken it since the day of her death. "It'd be great if more turned out like Wildfire. Or even Nightjar. Gannet's shaping up to be pretty rad too..."