Blackfeather Woods let darkness consume

Brows were knit into a frown as Cicero slept underneath one of Blackfeather's many trees, dreams engulfing him. He dreamt of Damien, of standing before him. Of the bloodlust that both of them had felt and how exciting it had been. In the dream, Cicero stood in front of Damien and stroked his tongue along the tip of Damien's ear. I love you. The frown on Cicero's face darkened and deepened. He nibbled the fur along Damien's shoulder in his dream, moving along his back.

Suddenly teeth flashed and blood poured from Damien's shoulder. Cicero licked the blood off his teeth while he turned to look at Damien. Teeth were bared, but not into agression — into a wicked grin, while he turned to lick his own blood off Cicero's nose. Sheogorath, was whispered into his ear.

Mismatched eyes snapped open, and the patchwork wolf jumped to his feet in response. His breathing was shallow and rapid as he stood. He looked about and saw no one. The wolf licked his teeth while he muttered under his breath, "I am Sheogorath." His eyes peered around the dark forest, the forest that Cicero had found unsuitingly dark for some time, and it was as though he was looking at the forest for the very first time, discovering everything anew.

Mother had not needed much help. Or at least, she didn't ask for it. Respecting her mother's wishes to be left with her new litter alone, Potema sought out the comfort of her brothers. It had been too long since they had spoke in familiarity. They needed to reconnect, she and Damien, her and Cicero. She missed her brothers' company, and was thoroughly jealous of how close her brothers were to each other. She deserved their love as well.

Potema wandered the Woods in search of her brothers; either of them would do. It was an almost aimless walk until she found Cicero standing by a tree, his back facing her. Smiling, she walked over to her brother, chuffing softly to alert him. "Hey...."

It did not take long for someone to find Sheogorath, and he turned his head to look at his approaching sister. While some thoughts had been changed and twisted, Sheogorath knew this one, the one-eyed girl. His sister. "Potema," he said in greeting while he turned head towards his sister. A rough nudge to the shoulder — perhaps rougher than one was used to from Cicero — was given in physical greeting.

Sheogorath's face seemed more full of life than it had in some time; almost as though young tiny Cicero had been placed into the shell of older Cicero. "How have you been?" There was an uncharacteristic smile on Sheogorath's face, a playful twinkle in his eyes. As he looked at his sister's face, he remembered seeing the torn flesh surrounding her eye and realised how lucky she was to have survived at all. He licked his lips, almost able to taste Grimnir's flesh between his teeth again.

She smiled as her brother greeted her, not noticing the subtle changes in him, though a small part of her felt at unease. She ignored it, for it was not loud enough to deter her and this was her brother after all. She hadn't spoken to him alone in moons!

His rough nudge she absorbed, chuckling, a small smile on her face. He had spent too much time with Damien, for sure. She reflected his mirth, happy to see that he was happy again. Being far from home had that effect on you, surely. "I've been fine." She smiled, tail wagging slowly. "Are your wounds healing alright?"

Potema seemed pleased by one thing or another, and indicated that she was fine. Sheogorath smiled mildly when Potema asked him how his wounds were healing, and he nodded. "Mine weren't as bad as Damien's. They're doing well." Sheogorath felt a pang of desire to be close to Damien as he mentioned his brother's name. A slither of lust that touched him softly and whispered in his ear. But he ignored it, for now, for he was with his sister.

His lip curled agressively as he thought back to the cause of the wounds, the violence, the fights. "I'm glad that bastard Grimnir is gone, so you can be safe again." They had done well to remove him. Sheogorath could almost taste his blood again, and he found himself lusting for the fight.

It took Potema a while to notice the change in Cicero's speech. She was just too excited to see her brother again that it was ignored, but now that she was a bit more coherent, she tilted her head as a pronoun slipped past Cicero's lips that she had never heard from him before. "Since when did you talk like that?" She asked, a bit confused at the change. Cicero always spoke in third-person, replacing 'I' with 'Cicero' and 'her' with 'Potema', things of that ilk. When had it changed? When he was gone? What had he and Damien gone through in all of those weeks. The mention of Grimnir passed by her, as this was much more important than that exiled bastard.

Sheogorath's ears twitched briefly when Potema asked since when he talked the way he did. He smiled warmly at his sister, his face more expressive than it had been in some time. "Does it really matter?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow. There was a desire for darkness growing inside of him, a shadow that had followed Cicero for a while and now came out. Sheogorath thought back to the moment he had attacked Grimnir — at the time out of necessity, to protect his beloved, but the thought unlocked a lust for blood.

"How have the Woods fared?" asked Sheogorath. "Do we have any enemies that need taking care of?" He looked at Potema, and part of him dearly hoped that the answer was 'yes'.

Yes, it does. This one is not the same anymore...this change is not good. The voice hissed, and she agreed. Both Cicero and Damien had changed. She did not like it, because she was not there to witness that change. They were different people now. But she said nothing, for something about him unsettled her. It wasn't just a change in personality now, there was something else, someone else...

"We've been fine." Potema noted nothing of value that occurred, other than a few insignificance wolves leaving the pack permanently. She looked into Cicero's eyes, silently shuddering. She wondered what he would do if there were no wolves to fight. "No one is harassing us, as of yet." She hoped that he would not turn his gaze onto any wolves in the pack.

"Good," said Sheogorath. His sister was quite remarkably keen, he realised, for noticing that things were different about him. Sheogorath did not think they were off or wrong, though; he rather preferred his present self. "Then our little siblings are safe." Sheogorath glanced around the forest and decided to try and put his sister at ease by doing something meaningless and menial with her; something Cicero would do with her. "Want to go look for mushrooms?"