Blackfeather Woods shambles

It didn't surprise Cicero that his pack mates had come to throw the proverbial dirt at his prisoner. The Blackfeather wolves were volatile and needed to reconcile with their own fucked up shit in some way. This was a way, even though the long term would only make it worse. He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth as she spat the words about her leg.

"Hm," he assessed. "Do you want to be set free, or a swift relief?" The question, he assessed, might make her explode again into indignancy, but he hoped the reality of his question. The truth of the situation she was in. It might be easier to die. But if she so wished it, he would help. Cicero approached and inspected the leg while he wondered out loud, "Do you belong to a pack?"