Indeed she is, sprawled in a nest of comfortably shaped chalkware dogs and snoring gently. One of them gets dislodged as she stirs, rolling across the floor to stop against Papyrus's shoe.

"Huh? Oh, whoah –" Amethyst sits up a little more, pushing some hair out of her face (but not all of it). "When did you get here?" Her eyes widen. "Is that Sans? Is he OK? Shouldn't he be, like, in Zecora's tent or something?"