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.

Though he was new to the world, it was already his oyster to discover. Sensations were so strange; this whelping den, so broad and open. Air filled Whip's tiny lungs as he sucked in breath— the rise and fall of his chest feeling so completely foreign, and yet so natural at the same time. Life on the outside felt so weird. While he was currently unable to think in an abstract sense, Whip's sense of curiosity had already been piqued.  

Already, Whip wanted to discover all this world could offer him, but with this newness, he knew next to nothing. However, e knew there was food; he knew there was warmth. Having rooted his way through his siblings, Whip fought for and claimed his place among the milk-bar and suckled steadily at his mother's life giving teat.

The comfort of a full belly drove him, and for a time he was content. That is, until a new sensation came his way in the form of his father's tongue across his back. He began to squirm and the newborn's mouth became unlatched from Fox. A mouse-like squeak escaped his toothless mouth in protest.

A completely unsuspecting and halfway asleep Gannet was lying with his back pressed against some comforting warm thing (mom? dad?  sibling? who knows?) when something happened.  His little ears and paws shot up, and he remained like that, mouth open as he tried to figure out how exactly to respond.  What the fuck was that? 

It felt AWESOME.

Lips widening into a singularly puppy grin, he wheeled his paws and wriggled, trying to find the source of the wierdness.  Where did you go, friend?  Come back!

Few hours into the new life and the little cub had found out that it was much simpler than he had first thought. The first shock of the overwhelming senses had passed and learning the easy routine of eating and sleeping had helped a great deal. Food was plenty and always available and it turned out that those invisible blobs of fur around him were quite useful - good at keeping you warm, if you were in the middle of the pile. And since cold was something he had already learned to dislike, the tiny fellow was very determined to crawl back to the centre, whenever he happened to be pushed to the side. 

He was blissfully asleep, when someone's touch woke and scared him. He squealed and squirmed to avoid the "invisible attacker".

He was not inclined to be still. He wormed while he fed, his paws kneading and flicking out and kicking for no reason, he wriggled while he was awake but resting, and he squirmed and rolled while he slept. Normally, his paws met with something warm and squishy, and he would press his pads against it. But this time, his paw met with something warm still, but also wet. Code name Troublepaws drew his paw back instantly, surprised by this new sensation. He had felt it on his head and back, sure, but against the his foot it felt decidedly different. Some combination of boldness and curiosity caused his foot to jut back out, as if seeking this weird thing again, but it was not there.

His attention span was limited, and he soon turned back to suckling. He was pretty much already full but that was not about to stop him.

If you peeps don't care about a post order, I don't. :)

Last year, Peregrine had been eager to name their children for a myriad of reasons, ranging from sentimental to practical. This time around, he had already decided to respect Fox's tradition and wait until they were a little older. Still, he needed to call them something, if only to keep them straight in his head, or when referring to them in conversation. He was pretty good at coming up with nicknames.

His single sighted eye flicked between the pups as they each reacted to his touch in their own way. "We'll call you Smol," he decided, gazing at the littlest of the bunch and trying to calm his squirming with a gentle pass of his tongue. Peregrine's attention shifted then to the pup's slightly larger lookalike. "You remind me so much of NJ." A little white paw wriggled in his face and he glanced between the two mid-sized boys and declared, "Mashed," and, "Potato." That left the litter's largest, the sandy fellow with distinct black markings. "Hamburglar."

Who knew if the names would stick or if he would come up with a dozen others for each pup as the weeks passed? He wasn't going to fuss about it. Satisfied with his choices for now, Peregrine let his voice trail off into a fatherly rumble as he found himself unable to stop from touching each of them again. This time, he offered each wriggling boy a tender nuzzle to the tops of their fuzzy little heads.

Peter = Smol, Whip = Mashed, Gannet = Potato and Ferret = Hamburglar (wasn't sure if that was clear), lol.

There it was again! That damn invisible assailant. Little Whip squirmed under his father's touch again, but this time, to a much lesser extent. This was his life now, he guessed: getting touched by strange objects and touching strange objects in turn was just another factor it seemed. It was of no matter or importance however, because a few seconds later the strange sensation was driven from Whip's incredibly young mind.

His attention shifted back to mother, most notibly, to finding the teet he had lost in his surprise. He rooted around blindly for a moment before latching on once more for seconds.

Completely unaware of his father's (horrible terrible awful) naming of them, newly dubbed 'Mashed' (or was it potato? Edit: yes it's Potato) continued to wiggle aimlessly.  He couldn't move himself, but his little paws continued to churn.  He'd completely forgotten why he had started the fun but now kept it up because the sensation of moving was so novel.  Look what he could do!  He told his legs to go and they did!

Presently he stopped, and another touch came after he paused.  He instinctively reached towards it with a blind muzzle, nose wrinkling when he met only air.

ooc: the urban dictionary says that "smol" is the acronym for "smile out loud". I didn't know that this kind of expression even existed. 

The next "attack" was much more pleasant - something the little boy had learned to recognize, when their "food-supply-tank" took occasional bouts of washing and rearranging the kids. They were soothing touches and at those moments he would stay still in hope that, whatever this process was called, would continue. 

He sensed a bit of commotion around him and somebody's (up to the players, whose it was) foot was stuck in his face. For a moment he mistakened it for a teat and grabbed it with his toothless jaws.

I can see how it would have evolved, given that many people use 'lol' when they are not really laughing but just smiling instead. I shall claim the errant foot for Ferret!

He suckled noisily, minding his own business, until his father nuzzled the top of his head. He detached from his mother as he bobbed his head upward, but the invader had already moved to someone else, and so Troublepaws resumed what he had been doing. Per usual, his foot kicked out again, and this time his pads felt the familiar warmth that they usually did when they met with one of his brothers. This did not interrupt him, but the wet, sucking sensation did.

The little bandit squeaked, retracting his paw as quick as an infant could, and in doing so, caused himself to roll over. His flailing limbs managed to right himself rather quickly, but now disoriented, he started to crawl across the back of the one who would come to be called Gannet.

since posting order doesn't have to be a thing :D

Already the potato was proving to be a pup who craved nearness, and he had a sort of gravitational pull towards anything that gave off an ounce of warmth or comfort.  He was happiest in the pile with his brothers, so when one of them happened to land across him, he accepted the presence without even a tidge of protest.  Happily he let out a little puppy 'rrrr', tiny tail wiggling as he cuddled in.  There he'd remain happily until his brother moved on, forcing him to seek out another body to attempt to merge with.

Two of the boys—Hamburglar and Mashed—nursed more or less contentedly, though the former unlatched when one of his limbs flailed right into Smol's waiting, toothless mouth. Peregrine's lips twitched into a smile as he watched the eldest pup overreact to the stimulus, launching himself up and over Potato. The father half-expected a squall of protest but the palest boy of the bunch didn't seem to mind when his larger brother crawled all over him. Peregrine supposed it wasn't so different from their experience in the womb, all crammed close together in close quarters.

He was tempted to snatch the little bandit—who was almost surely destined to be named Raccoon by his mother, on account of his mask—but the Alpha just sat back and continued watching. The newborns might not be capable of very much right now, yet somehow they captured his attention wholly and completely. He could literally gaze at them for hours. In fact, he planned to do just that, keeping an eye on them at least until Fox woke and took the next watch.

May or may not be my last post with Whip in this thread

The commotion amongst his brothers was completely unknown to Whip, who for the most part already arranged his priorities in life in a neat little row. Food first, sleep second. Stubby paws pressed against his mother's belly until the pup finally had his fill. With a tired yawn, contented heart, and a full stomach, Whip detached himself from his mother teat and stretched his tiny forelimbs outward.

He squirmed in the opposite direction of his brothers and ended up closer to Fox, seeking her warmth above all else so he could nab a nice snooze.

For now, energy was a limited thing. It would not always be so, woe be his parents. But he had enough to crawl across Gannet, then someone else, and then another, until he found the end of the line and plummeted nose down, his chin hitting the den floor as his belly and rump rested up and across his sibling... and yet, this was fine by him. It was not nearly as uncomfortable as it looked as he suddenly discovered he hadn't the oompf to keep going. So, satisfied with where he was — face down, ass up, and half on top of his brother — he stilled as he started to drift into sleep.

ooc: last post for Peter

The supposed connection to the milk tank was yanked out of Peter's mouth and he let out a little cry of surprise. There was little time left for wailing after that, because once again there was shift in the sleeping arrangements - people moving, moving over and under him and here was he, discontent with the situation, but helplessly drifting in the sea of what appeared to be warm blobs of flesh and fur. He had somehow ended up on the furthest edge of the pile again, so he attempted to crawl (with little success) and wriggle (a bit more effective) his way towards the source of warmth. The distancce was short, but for someone, who could barely walk, it was worth thousand miles. The effort, however, paid off. He found his mom and another sibling (Whip). The boy scooted closer and fell asleep with his head resting on Whip's shoulders.

Last for me too!

As soon as his brother left him to continue his slow wandering, little Potato let out a huff and began to wiggle, inching towards an even bigger source of warmth he could feel nearby.  Eventually he made his way to his mother, snuggling in and expelling a satisfied yawn.  At the moment he wasn't hungry, though that could change in an instant.  When he didn't eat, he was content to snuggle, burrowing in close and falling swiftly asleep.

Thanks for the thread, bbs! <3

After a time, all four pups settled into apparent sleep and the dark den filled with quiet stillness. Despite the atmosphere which definitely lent itself to sleep, the middle-aged father remained wide awake. Every little wriggle, quiet, dreamy whimper and thrust of a tiny paw captured his attention. He could stare at each tiny, squished face for what seemed like hours at a time.

A sound from outdoors caused him to look up, eyes narrowed and a growl bubbling to his lips. He rose slowly, to avoid disturbing Fox and the pups, to investigate. It was only a wayward squirrel, which darted away the instant he slunk from the den. The Alpha male stood there a long moment, watching and listening, then ducked back into the den to keep his watchful, tender vigil.