He had been training again. It had worn him down, or at least, for now it had. He had retired early to his den the night prior, after having spent some time roaming up and down the dunes once more. This time, he had been alone; he hadn't needed his family or Samia to push him more. In fact, it had just felt natural to venture to his designated dune after a day of exploration and play. It had fast become part of his routine and yet, today he had finally begun to feel the weight of true tiredness. He had tried to awaken earlier during the day, when his siblings and mother had elected to go elsewhere, and yet he had struggled to even open in his eyes. Instead, he had nestled back into the shadows, further and further towards the rear of the den until he knew he had been left alone. He did not wish to risk punishment, after all, especially not from his sister. She had seemingly taken it upon herself to do such a thing.

As the day had progressed, however, he had squirmed his way towards the den's mouth. Some of the day's light had spilled into the den, warming the earth and so, he had found himself a rather comfortable place. It was warm enough for him to sleep soundlessly, able to forget about the coming winter as he tucked his nose into his paws and dreamed of better days - days of the future, he hoped. In his dreams, he was always wrong. He was always able to defend others and make things right. Of course, it always meant he awoke to himself twisting awkwardly into his paw, awakened by its sudden protest. This time, however, he woke to something new - the sound of a stick slapping the hard earth of his mother's den's mouth.

It didn't take him long to scramble to the den's exit; there, he was fast met with Sif attempting something quite elaborate. Though he hadn't spent much time with her, he had grown fond of her if not because she seemed like Keturah - but... kinder, he supposed. At least, she had never screamed at him. She had never called him weak. That, of course, was because she had never actually spoken and yet, he found comfort in that silence. It meant he did not need to be so loud, either. He could simply relax. Except, perhaps not this time.

He rose in silence as he watched her frantically drag the stick about; it constructed wobbly lines and yet, he had begun to vaguely understood her method of showing rather than telling. Slowly, and with a weary hobble, he made his way towards her, taking his position at her side as he watched down at the image. He frowned for several moments before he spoke, his words almost hesitant in fear of making Sif feel foolish (how he discerned his misunderstanding would make her feel such a way, who could know? Such was the curse of insecurity.) "Somebody's.... gone?" Or at least, that's how he understood it. It didn't make sense for her to want somebody gone, after all. So, it had to be that somebody had been scratched out, so to say. "Are you positive?"