Redhawk Caldera you and me were kids.

Elwood flinched as Finley let go of the stick and it went flying. It wasn't anywhere close to hitting him, but he couldn't help the reflexive maneuver. He looked over his shoulder at the direction in which it had gone, then refocused on Finley. She spoke without looking at him, her voice edged with frustration.

She was pissed at Liffey, and Elwood's first thought was to point out that Liffey was just like someone he knew -- that someone being Finley, of course. But he held his tongue, knowing that that particular train of thought would just result in irritating her further. However, he couldn't bring himself to speak ill of his daughter. Yes, her thoughtlessness was aggravating, but she was also days away from stepping into the adult ranks; she was growing into herself and becoming more independent, whether her parents liked it or not.

"She's growing up," he commented, a note of wistfulness in his voice. Despite the trouble that Liffey was capable of causing, he still found it hard to believe that she and Lagan were nearly nine months old. It seemed like just yesterday they were tiny, underweight puppies fighting against the odds of the summer famine -- and now Elwood had blinked and they were almost fully grown.