Blackfeather Woods darkest days

It was strange to Cicero that Damien seemed so innocent on the subject, but perhaps it was he who was strange. Potema had never mentioned this subject either, after all, and while they were of different gender, she seemed uninterested with the subject, or other males in general, as far as Cicero knew. Perhaps he was the strange one for the thoughts and dreams that crept upon him occasionally. Thoughts that he knew not what to do with, did not know whether or not to act upon.

"Yes, most wolves only feel lust for others they are actually attracted to in some way," Cicero said, a hint of mock in his voice as he looked at Damien and grinned. To his question, he answered, "I am thinking about it because I am not sure what I feel. Whether it is either, or both, or none." Or something else altogether.

After that cryptic remark, Cicero stopped and sniffed the air. He turned towards a dead hollow tree not far from the pack's borders and put his front paws against the bark so that he could lean into the place where he'd hidden some herbs and mushrooms. Not that many -- Cicero preferred them fresh, anyway, and he'd never actually needed them so far -- but enough to harm someone with. Cicero looked down and asked, his voice cold and void of emotion, "What do we need?"