Redhawk Caldera Wilted colors.

Her growing appetite was countered by a growing illness, or at least some form of nausea that occasionally put her off her breakfast; still, Reyes tried to keep fresh food around for the times Towhee would be interested. He hoped this was one of those times — except she began to nibble at his jaw and neck, and showed that she was hungrier for him than anything he could bring her. He was fine with that.

Reyes' mind wasn't on the far-off mountain, or even the more present situation that was Towhee's belly. He was thinking of their time together. Going through the memory of their plentiful trysts in the cave. This train of thought derailed immediately as she withdrew her attention from him and he leaned against her, nosing at the scruff along her shoulders, when she spoke.

They'd already had this conversation, he thought. Reyes did not want to be a Redhawk. He misinterpreted what Towhee was saying; she spoke only of the children that were brewing inside of her, that they should adopt the names of both of them. He drew back from her furs with a pinched look on his face. 

You want to hyphenate. There was no point in making that a question since Towhee couldn't hear the inflection either way. By the look on Reyes' face it was clear he did not agree with it. They'll be my kids, they should have my name. So should you. He shouldn't push this — knowing how close Towhee was to her family and how she felt about her name as per their last discussion on the subject, Reyes knew he shouldn't be choosing this hill to die on.

And, yet.