Oh, uh... good morning...?

Beauregard had made short work of the duck. The kill had been made quickly and easily, the young man having gotten quite good at catching smaller meals for his partners. He smiled, tail wagging back and forth as he turned and began to trot back to the den they were sharing. But the action was more than just a gesture of love. He’d grown worried about them. All of them. They had been a bit more out of it, tired, seeming like something beneath the surface was getting to them. Though he worried, Beau did not press. He supported them as he could, staying close, and he didn’t expect them to be awake long before he returned.

Only as he approached the outer part of their den he noticed that Henry had been busy. The “porch” of sorts Beau had made, a combination of relying on trees and branches to make a covered and open area, was tidy of any of Blind’s scraps, bits of fur, or bone she left scattered about. Things that had been there before. Henry was out. Beauregard frowned, passing through the threshold and moving to the spacious den that had been dug out for them. He’d set the duck down, a soft whine leaving him. “I know something has been up… Henry please, talk to me. What is bothering everyone…?” How could he help if he didn’t know what the problem was?

"Speech," 'Thought.'