Blackfeather Woods revival

sheogorath did not answer the questions writ upon her face, and the woman felt frustration well within her. but he was speaking; she listened eagerly, brow furrowing somewhat. gone? sheogorath? awareness dawned slowly; this man was the same, but not. tongue snaking out to touch the edges of her muzzle-scar, the ragged wolfess straightened. cicero. she committed the name to memory.
gingerly she lifted a forepaw and gestured awkwardly in her own direction. cicero was he; who was she? it was the last information she needed to stand more comfortably in his presence.