Greatwater Lake breach

It was long since he had gone outside of Blackfeather Woods. He had hid and he had stayed away from many, for he felt his place in the Woods was waning and not many would think highly of him now. Whispers were against him this time, the grapevine no longer his trusted friend. Cicero did not think much of it. Time would change these things, or it would not. And what of all the captives? One of them now their own — two, if he counted Relmyna — one of them returned, set free, and one...? Who knew. He had counted but he did not know where they had gone in time. They weren't his. He'd done what was needed for Sheogorath's. His, he supposed, in a way.

He stood at the lake once more but everything surrounding it was different now. He was scarred, but not as scarred as those he had harmed. At times he thought of going away, left or right, one way or another, but in the end, he always stayed, for he did not think that any other place suited him as much as the darkness of Blackfeather Woods. Not even death.

The narrow-framed patchwork wolf shook from the cold in an attempt to keep himself warm. He reminded himself why winter was not the best time for him to go out of the thick Woods that kept his thin-furred self warm, but it did not matter, not really. Cold was just a feeling, and feelings could be turned off. With a face that did not betray any emotion he leaned down to the Greatwater Lake. Much was frozen but there were a few patches near the edges where he could safely drink still. Perhaps he should explore some, he thought to himself, see what the lands nearby were like now, what the packs were like now.