Redhawk Caldera i'm not the one who stabbed the captain with a pickle

No one replied, so Junior put her nose to the ground and continued tracking, following the scents upward toward the mountain's squat peak. When she reached that upper ledge, she gasped at the sight down below. A lake, black as an oil slick, reflected the moon and its starry backdrop. She squinted and made out various crags upthrusting from the black water.

Guessing that the acoustics here might be vastly improved, Junior sucked in a deep breath and shouted again. "Dad! Fox! Lasher!" As expected, her voice boomed into the darkness. Not three seconds later, a familiar voice called out, "Over here!" Junior swallowed, then began trotting down the steep decline toward the slim lakeshore.

"Fox?" she asked incredulously, stopping several yards away from her father's fiery mate. She thought back on their last encounter and swallowed again, even more thickly this time. "What are you doing here? Where's my dad? And Lasher? And what is this place?" she added, two-toned eyes lifting and flicking around her dark but nonetheless majestic surroundings.