He has always been one to wake early, seemingly drawn in by the light and awe of the daylight hours. He seeks the beautiful things, after all, to fill his silent world; at night, he seeks a moon full and round or the playing lights of the aurora. During the day, however, there is all too much to gaze upon and experience. There is so much he wishes not to miss and perhaps he has been foolish not to wake his mother. After all, she deserves to see such a beautiful world above all others, just as his father and Tuari did too. Still, he could not have brought himself to wake her, not when she seemed to enjoy sleep so much come the winter months. For what it is worth, he is an observant creature, ever aware of the smallest details, like the strange new thrumming beneath the thumping of his mother's heart: it is a small sensation, full of hope and amazement.

He is all too used to sudden change and yet he still finds himself startled somewhat when his mother suddenly appears. After all, he cannot tell how long she has been there. He tries to hide it, though, beneath the guise of a small smile, his tail waving behind him in the breeze. He is gentle in all that he does, gazing upon his mother's illuminated face with a childish love. Of course, his eyes soon trail down to her abdomen, his head slowly tilting in silent inquiry. Was she okay? The question reflected in his eyes as he shuffled forward, pushing his nose against her chest so that he might pick up on the vibrations that rippled through muscle and skin. All seemed... well, though the question still lingered as strongly as ever.

It does not take his mother long, though, to think of something to fill his day. After all, there is so little he knows that he can do: he does not know that he can learn to fight or heal all the same, and perhaps his mother knows such a thing. Nonetheless, he is excited at the prospect of some fun. He knows the action though not the sound, bounding along behind his mother on steps as quietly as possible. It has taken him months of following his sister to mask his presence, to pick up on the cues of those around him - was he too loud? Did he breathe with a rattled breath? Were his paws too sloppy? He tries his hardest to mimic his mother but it is a skill she has honed over so very many years.

One thing, however, that he knows well is the scent of the forest creatures. Whereas his ears fail him, his eyes and nose take in all the sensations of the world tenfold. He watches his mother's cues, watching as her nostrils flare and he too follows suit. On quick paws, he jogs to her with his tail bouncing over his back; one, two, he circles around her sniffing the dirt and leaves before moving to sniff at the air. The breeze is a gentle one, one that barely tickles his fur, but it brings with it the raccoon's scent from beyond them. Have they been downwind this whole time? He imagines so, for his mother is no amateur - he knows she is a powerful woman, one who makes so few mistakes. Instead of doubting, he looks back to her with another broad grin, nodding once before pointing back in the direction with his muzzle.

If she will allow it, he will lead her to where he believes the creature to be hiding. In the winter months, many trees had fallen - that he knows - and within them, he is certain they will find hollowed wood with creatures fast asleep or foraging.