Redhawk Caldera A greatness at the cost of goodness

Peregrine pouted at her mediocre assessment, though his tail kept waving until she stepped up to him and licked at his wounds. It fell still and he tried his hardest not to wince as her saliva stung the fresh, bleeding cuts. "I can't believe I let that walking scrote-gina leave a mark on me," he grumbled under his breath, favoring Fox with a grateful glance when she finished lapping the blood from his snout.

She asked if they matched and he bobbed his head. "You and me, we're a couple of warbirds. Firebirds," he corrected himself, thinking back on the day when Finley had introduced him to that term (or at least, he was pretty sure it had been their handy-dandy Beta). "Hey, that's what we should call them. The kids, I mean. Collectively. Maybe they'll come out with a bunch of gnarly, badass scars too," Peregrine mused, snickering at his own foolishness.