Redhawk Caldera Hands off, no trash talk, no back walk

Set post-birth (obviously), late on the 29th. :)

The sun set on this final day of February, plunging the caldera into shadows. Peregrine didn't even notice the encroaching darkness, to be honest. He was too busy staring at his four newborns, marveling at the fact that his prediction had come true. They nursed as the exhausted @Fox slept, giving him plenty of opportunity to just gaze at them, memorizing their tiny little features and musing about what they would look like when they grew up.

But no hurry, boys, he thought with a smile, reaching out a broad forepaw to touch the nearest pup (@Peter), who was significantly smaller than his brothers. He hoped this year's runt would not suffer the same fate as last year's. He kissed the top of the littlest boy's head before one of the other puppies (@Ferret) grabbed his attention by kicking out a limb. Peregrine bent forward to lick at the outstretched paw, then turned his muzzle to blow a raspberry against the pale, exposed belly of the cub (@Gannet) beside him. Then, not wanting him to feel left out (not that he would have the first clue), the father made a point to swipe his tongue up and over the back of the remaining whelp (@Whip), who looked almost exactly like Nightjar had at that age.