Redhawk Caldera The crisis in the crossfire

He grinned at the greeting, though he didn't know what 'varmint' meant. Couldn't be all that bad, from the affectionate way Bronco said it. His eyes widened, intrigued and a little bewildered as he tried to pay attention to the words and follow the ptero all at once. When his father began to muss his fur, Killdeer giggled, squirming a little under the ministrations.

-Gramma,- he said, remembering the sign for that word—and then promptly forgetting all the rest. Gramma's gonna make me take a bath later. She was very good at keeping him clean and presentable.

But he obliged, rearing up a little to reach Bronco's dark golden crown. What's muskrat? Killdeer asked, concentrating on making the hair as spiky as possible. When he leaned back to observe his work, he giggled again, seeing the noble man before him look positively disheveled.