Blackfeather Woods dwindling

A lot had passed in his absence. It was not truly his absence, he knew that, but it was things that haunted him forever, half of which he did not even know how. He did not know what Sheogorath had done to Damien or how he had gotten Potema into the position that he had. He did not know what he had done to Fox, the red-furred girl that he had apparently taken into captivity here at Blackfeather Woods. His mind was battered and broken, and at times he thought it might be time to stop being alive. Or at least stop being Cicero. Or at least stop being here, he thought as he wandered the dark forests, dark as his soul. He had only stayed because this was the only place he belonged, for his soul was charred.

How long would it be until wolves came to murder him? Or perhaps he should rather think: How long would it be before his own relatives would murder him? Perhaps it was best to take the good child and leave now that he still could. Then, would a life somewhere else with Cicero really be best for the child? Perhaps better than hated in Blackfeather Woods, yet he could not escape the notion that perhaps this place was not so bad for the child.

It wasn't that he considered departing because it was bad, either. It was because he loved Damien and he could see the cracks of madness that had been etched upon his brother's soul. Damien's soul had always been dark, like his own, but now it was no longer just that. It was broken. Could it ever be mended? Could anything?

Could he?

Perhaps without him, Damien may yet survive this episode, and perhaps his life would be better for it. Or perhaps life didn't matter, nothing mattered, and the all-consuming madness that Sheogorath had left behind for him and his relatives was nothing all along. Whether he stayed or went, it did not matter.

He wandered the forest's darkness, a chill running down his spine. Winter had never been merciful to him, even in the depths of the forest. Perhaps he should postpone decisions until it was safer.

Or simply until there was another famine and Damien would not be there to feed him, he thought fleetingly.

There were times he was an attentive and rigid student when someone took the time to teach the trio about the dark woods ways. Other times he fidgeted and seemed to look through the instructor as if what they were saying went in one ear and out the other. This was such a time. His littermates were far more engrossed in the lesson. His mind was on the hunt. He had come close to capturing something larger than an insect and the desire to make the kill was consuming him.

But for all his disinterest in staying, Euron felt rooted so strongly that it made him look at his paws as if expecting to see something holding them. There was nothing there. But his nails were biting into the crust of snow. The pup furrowed his brows. Even his legs felt tense. With a sigh he resigned himself to staying a bit longer. It was not until the topic at hand switched to a lesson he heard before did he feel a strange sort of release. His legs and paws slackened so suddenly he jerked to recover his balance, in the manner of someone who caught themselves just as they were dozing off.

He took his chance. Tail wagging he bounded away.

He scaled the slope of the glen — something he had become relatively proficient at doing since the first time he and his brother had attempted it — and struck off through the trees. Nose to the ground, he searched for scent, for something to hunt, when the thin figure of Cicero caught his eye.

Euron lifted his head and devilishly narrowed his eyes. Cicero was no mouse or beetle or bird, but he was a suitable enough target, an outlet for the boy's energy. He had practiced on his siblings and had been successful in pouncing them more than once. Now was the time to truly test his talents. He slipped into the cover of a thick tangle of firs and started to stalk toward the wolf he did not yet know as his father.

Then there were the children, of course. Used to stalking others, Cicero noticed at some point that a figure slipped through the dark woods, always there. He did not know how long the child had been there, and was not sure whether he should feel proud or disgusted to find his child held some of the same qualities he possessed when it came to stalking.

"Hmm," he murmured, afore wondering aloud: "Cicero should not forget to share the plans to sacrifice Euron in the secret meeting later." A thin smile breached the neutral facade, unable to hide amusement, while he continued walking, curious what the boy would do next, but making sure he remained with a general idea of where the boy was. He should teach him some new tricks when it came to spying; it was not easy using the shadows when you were both black and white.

It was true — Euron did not have the most appropriate coat for stealth. He was a wolf of unnatural contrast. The white patches on his shoulder the most noticeable of all. But he would learn. Some tricks he had already learned in stalking small creatures and his siblings. New ones awaited as he graduated to trickier prey, the most challenging of all no doubt being his own father. Euron had been cut from his cloth in more ways than one.

Too young and naive to realize that Cicero had him made before he really even started, he continued following after his sire with growing hubris, that he could go undetected by him. Until:

"...Euron..."

Most of what Cicero said did not register to the boy. But his own name did and now his curiosity had been piqued to the detriment of his game. Euron couldn't resist. He bounded forward, abandoning his stealth entirely but not losing the inherent grace and quietude of his steps. "You wait!" He chirped as he hastened to Cicero. "I wants to safrice!"

It did not take long for the boy to catch his name. Cicero did not doubt he hadn't fully grasped what exactly Cicero was saying about him, considering he said he wanted to sacrifice.. Had he understood the true meaning perhaps he would've reacted less favourably. Still, it did not matter much for he had done what he had intended, to spark a reaction, to draw him out of hiding.

He stood still at the shout and watched the boy approach with a narrow smile on his face. "When you follow someone in the shadows, it is not very smart to come forward when they call your name. There was probably a good reason you were following them in the first place, hmm?" He canted his head and looked at the boy to see if his words would strike any sort of chord.

Euron's grinning expression of wonder and excitement slowly morphed into a slack-jaw and staring eyes as the realization that he had been fooled dawned on him. He held that comical expression for some time, staring up at Cicero as if waiting for another conclusion. But no, his ever-sharpening mind knew that he had walked right into it. The pup stamped a forepaw and let out a big sigh.

"Tricked." He admitted with a wrinkled nose as he cast his eyes to the ground and slowly shook his head. When he lifted his eyes back to Cicero he admitted it louder and with an impish boldness. "Tricked the me!" He grinned, the glint in his eye betraying how he admired the bigger wolf's play. "I knows now. Won't be working next time."

Cicero could not help but chuckle when the child admitted to being tricked. Cicero did not judge; he simply meant to teach a lesson and to draw out a response, see what would happen. Life was worth nothing if you did not make an adventure out of it. It was good to see that the child bounced back so quickly; in a matter of seconds, Euron went from disappointed and annoyed with being shamed to admiring and enjoying the play. Were Meldresi herself present, she might have seen some of Cicero back in there, surely. But any others who would do such a thing were far from here. Damien because the time he spent with Cicero was against his wishes and Potema because neither Cicero nor Euron were wolves she wished to be with at all presently.

"And that is how one learns," Cicero said when Euron said he wouldn't be tricked again. "It is still good to cup one's ears when one's name is spoken. But such things are better done from the shadows." It was good to know what other wolves thought of you — well, if one cared for such things, Cicero supposed — for it would do to be prepared.

"I catch and scare. Usually. But I can be listening..." Euron said as he bobbed his head. His paws shifted in the snow subtly, and his toes flexed. He was eager to try out this new method of sneaking. One that involved simply following and listening and not attempting to pounce on another or scare them. Little did the pup know yet that he was on a rogue's path. That he had the makings of a proper spy, and perhaps with a inclination toward assassinating as well.

Euron dropped his rump to the ground. "Okays. Teaching me more now." His attentive eyes were glued to Cicero.

Cicero nodded as Euron confirmed that he usually pounced and scared others, rather than snuck. It reminded him of himself at that age — or what he remembered of his youth, anyway — what with the joking manner in which he seemed to enjoy pouncing and sneaking up on others. Those days had been so different from the rest of his life. The biggest reason he remembered them was because Potema once said that she wished he would smile more like he used to as a child. No longer so eager to see his smile, now.

Eager to learn, too. "The darkness of the forest is easy to be used. The trick is to move slowly and steadily, for a fast target will draw one's eyes to that target, and so will an uneven gait." He paused momentarily and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth while he thought. "Shall we practise?" He then proceeded towards the dark trees beside the road he had been following and snuck into the shades there. Cicero waited for Euron to join him before he started moving slowly and at steady pace, making sure to stay within the shaded parts of the woods as he looked out over the empty road and watched how Euron was doing.

His ears cupped forward to absorb every word that Cicero said. His head bobbed along in understanding and in enthusiasm. Though not the most attentive student to teachings of culture and religion — except in those odd cases where he seemed inexplicably rooted to the spot and forced to listen — Euron was fully engaged to this subject and replied with bounce and a hearty "yup!" when his father asked if they should practice. He had to take a deep breath to steady himself and enter stealth mode.

Initially his efforts to do the best he could had the opposite of the intended effect. He concentrated so hard on moving exactly as Cicero moved and focused so much on weaving into the shadier spots of the forest that some of his natural furtiveness was lost. His graceful steps became jerkier and more plucky as he second guessed what he was doing and where he was putting his paws. The boy's brows furrowed and his ears twisted back. He could feel that he was not being properly sneaky.

He took another breath. Relaxed. His movements started to smooth out as he followed along.

He agreed to practise and followed Cicero's move; uneven and clunky at first, like when you first try something and it is not working out, but he remained a diligent student and continued to practise until he got it right. Such patience would get him a long way in life, Cicero knew. "Very well," he praised. "Another trick to spying is when you stand completely still. When you move, you are distracting. That is why when you sneak, your gait must be even. When you are listening to wolves who stand still, and you do not move, there will be nothing to hear or see for them, for their eyes detect change in their surroundings above all other things. The biggest danger is scent." He looked to see if the child understood before he continued, "One can see where the wind comes from, and then go against it. When one can smell one's enemies the strongest from the same distance, one's own position is best. Do you wish to try? Circle Cicero and find out where best to stand." The forest did not have as much wind as an open place, perhaps, but if Euron could do it here then he could do it anywhere.

Euron continued to listen and understand what was being said; his rapt attention never allowing a word to be missed and his own voice echoing them in his mind. Cicero proposed another challenge and the boy quickly rasped out a yeah! mid-breath before scampering some distance away.

He took a few moments to sample the air in the first place: pine needles, damp bark. "Hm." It was mostly trees here. The boy moved, excited whipping his head and his tail excitedly when he caught a whiff of Cicero but as quick as he caught it, it was gone. Euron sat down, momentarily perplexed, waiting for the scent to return. On an open plain the wind would carry scent in a more obvious pattern, but in the forest, it was forced to shift and snake around the trees. When the scent did not return immediately, he continued onward, occasionally flicking his eyes to his father in case there was further instruction.

It took a while thanks to Euron's deliberation but eventually he hit the magic scent cone produced by a steady breeze at the most opportune moment for teaching the pup. "Oh!" He exclaimed, all a quiver like a gun dog on fresh bird scent. Instinct guided him into a natural weaving pattern, pulling him into the cone until he had centered on the strongest scent.

"Cicero is stinking the most here!" He announced proudly.

He decided to give it a try and Cicero waited patiently in the same spot while Euron started to circle-sneak him. Euron seemed a natural talent, much like Cicero imagined he must have been for he had always been pulled into rogue-like abilities too. Ears swiveled back and forth as he watched the boy go, until he found one spot in which the scent was the strongest and halted with excitement. "Good," he called out with an approving nod, though there remained little expression on his face. "You are a natural talent at this, Euron." He was not sure if the boy needed the assurance, really, but perhaps it was a strange newfound pride he had found that made him speak out in part.

Euron was in his glory. It was a bit too much glory truthfully. His successes and Cicero's praise had set the boy fidgetting with more excited energy than he knew what to do with. "I have to... to tell Rams!" Why or what exactly he had to tell his brother was questionable. He simply felt that he needed to share all the good with his sibling and he was not going to waste any time in getting to that.

He pivoted sharply and started to run off. Only he did not get far before he spun again and ran back toward Cicero, blazing past his father-uncle while hurriedly shouting "oopswrongwaythankingyouseeyouuuuuuuuuu."

Then he was gone.

I thought this was a good place to end and we could have another soon :D

The thought of Ramsay trying to be sneaky was quite funny even to Cicero. He did not doubt the boy had qualities but he was not so sure if being silent and sneaky was one of them. Yet Euron, with childlike innocence, seemed intent on telling him all about this nevertheless. Cicero watched as the boy exclaimed this and ran off, then spun round and came back past him. Without a word Cicero watched him as he left, giving no more than a nod -- which was probably missed by the boy -- before being on his way again.