Blackfeather Woods I remember there was mist...

Cicero had just gone to retrieve some of Potema's favourite mushrooms. They would make her feel better again. They always did. He did not understand much of all that had happened, although he could think of only one wolf that would do such a thing. Only one wolf in the pack, that is. Apparently it was not a bad thing to hate others within the pack. Maybe it was not even a bad thing to hurt them. Cicero did not know. He did not fear or worry much for such things, for he did not feel in danger, himself. Potema, she was a princess. The plebs hated princesses, because they were better than them. Cicero... He was just Cicero. He was better than all of them, but aha - the trick was that the plebs did not know. So he was safe from their wrath.

When he arrived at the densite, Potema was having another one of her freak-outs. "Poor Potema," Cicero said as he walked around her, towards her bad side. Might as well learn to live without that eye some day. Might as well be today. "Cicero brought you this. Chew up." Cicero did not come near enough to be attacked in case she was really gone for the moment. He threw the mushrooms forward, aiming for her line of sight, so that she would stop tearing at the ground and would eat them and feel better. Less pain. Or maybe just high. Both would work well enough.