Redhawk Caldera disconnect the dots

If Peregrine sensed her quiet unease, he didn't show it. Or Fox was to dull to notice that he'd noticed. In any case, she did her best to brush the thoughts away like cobwebs. The newly-dubbed Dud then began to rattle off names, one after another, which might be placed upon the sandy boy's body. She listened with pricked ears, though she knew that naming them so soon was bad luck. It was one of the few superstitions she bought into, and she certainly didn't wish to curse the smallest and weakest of her first litter. "I'm sure he'll make it clear what his name is in time," she replied, nudging the sandy boy upright when he rolled over onto his back.

How could she name them when it didn't even seem like they were alive? They were just eating, shitting, puking machines right now. Blind and deaf to boot. How were these writhing potatoes supposed to be... charming? Fox did her duty as any mother should, but she derived less joy than she felt she should have. They were work more than they were fun. Perhaps bonding to them would simply take time.