Redhawk Caldera there'll be peace when you are done.

His grin persisted, though he didn't respond to Finley's quip. He didn't know the proper response to it. He might have told her that she was getting ancient, or he might have said she was young and spry as a spring chicken. Neither of these things crossed his mind. For all he had grown and matured and for all that his father's easygoing nature had manifested in him of late, Nightjar was still the dullest crayon in the box that was his litter. It would always be that way.

"You're pregnant," he told her plainly, after sniffing the air gingerly when she came close. Did she really not know? That joke sailed directly over his head. "Mom smelled the same before she had more kids," he pointed out. Maybe Aunt Flea just didn't remember that. Maybe women just couldn't smell other women or something. Nightjar had been able to smell it back then but hadn't cared as much. Now, the smell made something ugly and jealous rear in his breast, even if he wouldn't have considered Finley a candidate for his own future conquest.

But it also made something proud and familial rise, and that was the stronger feeling. "Do you think they will be strong?" he asked, thinking of Elwood Junior with disdain and hoping that that was just an unfortunate accident. He wanted to be involved this time, and he would be, but wasn't sure he could abide another sorry sack of puppy like that. If nothing else he supposed he could simply beat it out of them.