Lion Head Mesa snapped like twigs

yup, that's fine! thanks for joining! :D

Whilst Cicero realised that the world expected him to harbour a desire to prove himself as a youngster and create a place in the world for himself, Cicero did not care for such things. He knew his own worth, and he understood a bit about the psyche of other wolves. That was enough for him, for now. Perhaps one day there would be a day that he did wish for such things, but for he was content. If not, then he might not have stood by Damien's side in the foolish ploy they were about to go in on. Cicero well understood the dire consequences their action might end up having; he understood this better than his brother, he often feared.

When his eyes fell upon another wolf, Cicero tensed briefly, his mismatched eyes staring out at the dark-furred stranger. He observed a moment, though the other seemed no threat as far as he could tell. The stranger merely stared at him, too; observing, too. It drew Cicero's attention away from the broken trees, and then a smirk broke across his face as he came into motion towards the stranger. A wolf that had shed the days of youth, but was not yet old, Cicero thought to recognise.

There was no noticeable scent upon the wolf's fur, but Cicero knew the rain could prove tricky in that regard. One never knew for sure. Cicero halted not far from the stranger, but far enough so that he could run would it prove necessary. "What is a wolf doing so close to Blackfeather Woods? Admiring nature's cruelty?" Cicero asked -- his gaze roving over the fallen trees briefly as he mentioned nature's cruelty -- with a rare smile on his face. It was good to be in the company of someone that was not grouchy Damien or whiny Baldur for a moment, even if Cicero had initially struck out here to be alone.