Redhawk Caldera window rattles

Peregrine's mouth opened and closed when she revealed that she sometimes mistook him for Haunter. Although he didn't feel jealous about his wife's past lover, he didn't quite know how to feel about his evidently lingering ghost. Apt name, he mused. He frowned lightly, then nudged his mate in what he hoped was a reassuring way. No matter his personal feelings on the matter, he knew that must have been hard.

"Not all wolves do it. My father, for instance, was surrounded by family when he passed. I hope my mother was as well. Others die safe and warm in their sleep... like Haunter. I just think it's a possibility, is all. Atticus was more of a feral, almost mechanical, entity during and after his coma. I could see him wandering away out of instinct or even confusion. Which is terrible and sad for him and which leaves us with no closure," he finished grimly.

"Take my mind off this," he begged quietly in the next breath. "Tell me something happy... or something."