Hoshor Plains Memories of the land

hello, this looked lonely! :) is it ok to bump to present time?

Even though he had returned home, being a scout remained in Cicero's blood. He enjoyed going out, and truthfully, it distracted him from some of the wories and shame that lay within Blackfeather Woods' dark depths for him. He had nearly attacked Kove when he had been awakened by him, fearful of the white wolf that had taken Sheogorath, taken him, the nameless wolf that would most likely forever remain without name. To go out and explore distracted Cicero from those heavy subjects, and since he was a scout he could fulfill his duties to the pack at the same time.

The scent of charcoal was heavy in the air along the plains. Cicero knew that the storms of many months ago had ravaged much, and that some territories had been laid bare by its strength. The young Scout approached a ruddy wolf that stood among the ashes, looking as though they had never seen such tragedy before. There was something poetic about the scene in itself; the blackness and greytones and the ruddy tones that stood out from them. "Fire can be a cruel mistress," Cicero said as he stepped through the ashes towards the ruddy wolf. There was no threat in his body language, although he was wary of the stranger (Cicero hadn't yet realised that Burke's scent clung heavily upon their fur, like his).