Redhawk Caldera Vísdómr.

"She's calling you."

Whip-poor-will Redhawk had a familiar way about him: stiff and rigid, the elasticity of youth had been bled out of him a long time ago. He was slow to move and even slower to act. 

"Hmm?" he hummed, eyes opening to narrow slits. She had a habit of running with the assumption that Whip cared for very little. Of course, he cared about their next meal, survival (broadly), and with some liberal extension of the mind, herself. However,  Wagtail often wondered if it was only her desire for his approval that colored her perception. One had to check themselves now and again. 

"Aunt Towhee. Your sister, remember? It's time to go. Up. Get up," she implored, nosing at his side.